


All is dream and everything is real

by coefore



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Family Issues, Gender Issues, M/M, Major Character Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, alternate universe - Retired Veterans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-17 17:52:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9335888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coefore/pseuds/coefore
Summary: “You” Ahab lowered his eyes, ready to go sleep an eternity, “startled me. That’s all.”He felt the other man’s free hand on his left shoulder, gently pushing him inside.“Come on, go sit down.” He almost whispered. Jack was twenty-nine. Ahab had saved him from the flames and the metal by pushing him away. Yet, during the plane crash, he had hit his head nonetheless.Jack was stuck in a coma for a few weeks.He didn’t recover.





	1. Phantoms

**Author's Note:**

> I took inspiration from [another fanfiction](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8185864) I had written some time ago.
> 
> All is dream and everything is real: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sZfFdENI9pM

 

The insufferable noise of his voice as he burns, hard metal biting into his skull. The helicopter crashing down, straight to hell.

He jumped in front of his superior, a kamikaze girl blowing up. A scream that doesn’t want to escape his mouth and a song that keeps repeating

_I thought you died alone, a long long time ago._

\--

The water in the bathtub had gone lukewarm, almost cold. He stared at his non-existent hand. Being back in his flat was surreal, unexpected. Difficult. He had left two years prior, at the age of twenty-nine, to go far from the base he worked at. Go to the actual war he had been trained for years, a skilled medic, a prepared surgeon.

War looked at him and decided he didn’t need an eye, he didn’t need an arm. When he came back, the flat hadn’t changed, but he had. Thoroughly. He walked back to the front door and realised he was just a phantom of his former self, whoever that was. Whoever he was.

A knock on the door woke him from his trance, and the man looked up to the young girl standing in a big sweater near the bathroom door. She signed with her hands, _are you alright?_

_Do you need help?_

She never spoke. She would write or use sign language. He had taken her in when the girl was barely seventeen. She was homeless and he was a kind man she had trusted for no reason. It was as if he had gained a niece of sort, and called her Quiet. She never complained about the nickname, even though she had an actual name.

The man passed his only hand on his face, trailing his jaw with two fingers, feeling the texture of the wet beard under his fingertips.

“I’m fine.” He stated unconvincingly, locking his only working eye at the wall in front of himself. “I’m getting out.” He continued, almost in a whisper.

“Don’t worry.”

Quiet frowned, staring harshly at the man stranding in the bathtub. She didn’t seem convinced he could leave that nest of despair he had made for himself, but she left the room nonetheless.

Quiet helped him not to let himself die and remember to take his medications.

Ahab found the strength to rise up and step out, at which his wrinkled skin rejoiced at the absence of water. He stumbled about in the bathroom, drying himself the best he could. He managed to pull up boxers and trousers without too much trouble, but he had to sit down on the toilet to try sliding on his undershirt and sweater. Slowly. Painfully.

He still felt his arm attached to his body.

As he held the white piece of clothing in his hand, his mind stopped once more to think on how empty he felt. How weak. How tired. Ahab let the undershirt go and absentmindedly reached out for his phone, sitting on the sink. Three new messages, all from the same person.

He clicked on the notification.

_> Do you want to meet?_

_> I feel sick._

_> I want to drink and I don’t need her to know._

Ahab sighed, the timestamp said it had been about fifteen minutes ago. He was slow at typing with one hand, thankfully there were swiping keyboards to save him a lot of troubles.

_> Ok. I don’t feel well either._

_> Don’t drink without me. What if you get worse?_

The other person read the messages almost instantly but didn’t reply. He didn’t mind it and just placed the phone on the carpet, going back to his task. Ten minutes later, Ahab was done and staring at the mirror, depicting a horrific show of scars and metal. His blind eye staring deep into his still young face. He was just thirty-one. The man dried his hair and picked up the phone, sluggishly heading to the living room where Quiet was typing on an old laptop she worked hard to buy. Ahab heavily sat down on the sofa, by her side. The man wasn’t extremely tall, rather average, but he was very muscular and now, quite frightening with this new war look on. He was also rather bulky, hence the girl frowning at his roughness of his movements. Before going to war, he did look less menacing but no one would dare to mess with him, nonetheless.

Quiet almost automatically got a hair tie from her wrist and turned Ahab’s head on the side to put his clean hair up in a ponytail. He didn’t complain. He didn’t move and when she was done, the man just sunk into the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

She batted his hip to get his attention one more time. He shifted his eyes to her and she gestured with a finger towards his phone. It was blinking. Ahab suddenly seemed to find life again, crouching down, his right elbow resting on his knee as he looked up the messages.

_> Is it your arm? _

_> I’m not going to drink alone like some kind of drunkard. We’re gonna drink together like some kind of drunkards._

Ahab let a smile slip on his mouth. Quiet just so briefly glanced at him and felt somewhat relieved.

_> You’ll have to bring the alcohol._

_> I don’t have any here._

The man carefully typed, before adding another message.

_> It’s always the arm._

The only reply he got was a confirmation that the person would get there in an hour and he didn’t feel like typing anymore. The phone slipped from his hand onto the table in front of the sofa and he lazily laid down on his side with his head on the bare, but comfortable, couch armrest. His remaining limbs were cold, and his head rather warm. The doctor said it could happen, especially because of the pressure the shrapnel was forcing upon the inside of his cranium.

Maybe, if he closed his eyes, he wouldn’t wake up. And that’d be nice. He’d be sorry about leaving Quiet on her own, but she was a strong girl, head on. She would make it out this life.

Ahab closed his eyes.

A fleeting image of another man appeared before him. It would be a pity to let good alcohol go to waste. So, he forced himself awake and mumbled something, more to himself than to Quiet, and cleared his throat.  

“My Boss is coming over.”

The girl knitted her brows while looking at him, before typing something or her pc and turning it towards the man. She had opened a word file, and a big black _he is not your boss_ sat in the middle of the page.

Ahab tried again to get his throat to work decently, letting out a low and painful cough.

“He was, anyway.”

Her legs were crossed over on the sofa, the laptop resting over them. Her whole body just deflated, shoulders lowering and hands abandoned on the keyboard. She looked worried and confused. He looked sick and melancholic.

Quiet reached out a hand and patted the side of the big man laying so helplessly near her, like a comforting gesture of sort. She wasn’t good at those. Neither was he. The girl then stood up without him noticing and vanished into thin air, probably sneaking back into her room. Ahab was left contemplating the TV in front of him, as he hopped his legs on the couch and shrunk his body on itself the best he could to get some warmth. He remembered buying the few DVDs sitting near the modest screen, building the shelves himself and filling them up with nothing, really. There were many plants on the top one, and Quiet always cared for them dearly. Various types of digitalis, tarragon and other medicinal herbs she liked to grow.

The flat was so empty. Astonishingly empty. He had never noticed before his body was smashed into a pulp and given back to the civilian life. He didn’t really remember what he liked, besides a song that filled his ears when he let his guard down.

_I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home._

The doorbell abruptly rang and Ahab was frightened out of his dissociative moment, making him jump straight up. Forty minutes had passed and it felt like barely five. He looked around, trying to find himself, before awkwardly walking to the door.

He still seemed rather unnerved when the other man appeared in front of him. Their faces were oddly similar, that was something nobody would ever forget to point out. Before the incident, one would say they could be brothers or even twins. And yet, now Ahab was his own brand of monstrosity, and there was no way anyone could mistake them.

“Did you see a ghost?”

The shorter man had his right hand in his pocket, while in the other one he held a paper bag with probably bottles of alcohol inside. Rum. His tone seemed drained out of energy, dragging every word like a burden, but his stance showed a mask of boldness he really liked to wear. He had an eyepatch to cover whatever was left of his right eye, hit in the same spot as Ahab’s was.

“You” Ahab lowered his eyes, ready to go sleep an eternity, “startled me. That’s all.”

He felt the other man’s free hand on his left shoulder, gently pushing him inside.

“Come on, go sit down.” He almost whispered. Jack was twenty-nine. Ahab had saved him from the flames and the metal by pushing him away. Yet, during the plane crash, he had hit his head nonetheless.

Jack was stuck in a coma for a few weeks.

He didn’t recover.

\--

A disgusting taste in his mouth kept him awake, as he threw up in the toilet. He was used to it, now. The nausea was just too strong some days; he just couldn’t hold it in.

It was four in the morning and finally he could catch his breath, flushing his pain down the toilet. The man passed a hand on his face, while trying to get back in focus. He sat on the bathroom floor, clenching his fists and hating what he had become.

_Weak._

_You are weak._

_You aren’t who you used to be, man up. Man up._

“Jack?”

He looked up towards the door, where the voice had come from. A woman, whose age was hard to pinpoint, was standing two steps in the room. Her blond hair was untied, she had probably been sleeping.

_You let her down._

_You weak, stupid man._

_You came back like this._

She took another step in, frowning at the lack of explanations and that mute stare as her only reply. Jack held himself up on the toilet, while his only eye fell to the ground. He wanted to cry, but not in front of her.

“Jack, talk to me.” Her voice was soft in the early morning hour, but it still felt like an order. “Are you alright?”

Jack had too much noise in his head to stand a conversation, thus he tried to escape from there. He looked like a mess. And she knew.

The woman seized his wrist before he could barge out of the bathroom like a scared animal. He turned around. Every time he looked at his mother straight in the face, he could see his own lost eye, his own abdomen slit open and sawn back together, and her expression of disappointment when he showed up two months ago. Except she had explained countless times she let _herself_ down, she had never wanted this for her child. She had never wanted this.

She was so proud of him.

“I’m fine!” he almost shouted, freeing himself from the woman’s iron grip, just because his mother allowed him to. He immediately tamed his tongue, feeling like he had sinned in church just by rising his voice to her. “Sorry,” Jack was agitated, his mother’s eyes felt like nails in his skull, pushing down. Down. Down.

“I’m” the tears wanted to come out, to break his voice, to make him break in front of her, finally, “I’m sorry, mom”.

Jack stepped away, back into the shadows of the corridor. Running away from whatever demon he was seeing, from everything he felt guilty for. Hiding into his old room. _It’s all a nightmare_ , he thought _, I will wake up_ , he hoped. _I’m still in a coma. I’m still dying._

_You’re weak._

_You’re a coward._

Jack had always been a very peculiar child, found in the garbage by an extremely young soldier, Joy. Disposed of by someone who never needed him. She had raised the boy herself, until he was seven and a man that had always looked old appeared into her life, as a partner. He eventually passed away when Jack was in his early twenties.

At the age of nine, his brother Adamska arrived into this world. That’s when he started to obsess a little too much over his mother. Feeling as if he was being replaced or that he wasn’t enough, he wasn’t her _real_ son. He was never enough for her; he was convinced of such.

So, he decided he would start training as a soldier to make her proud even though she had always been proud of him. However, Joy’s ways were harsh and she would slip too many times into the commander role more than the mother’s.

Jack left his house when he was nineteen. He was called to war outside the country when he was twenty-seven. When he came back with one eye and a snake scar on his chest, his mother had introduced him the woman she had been living with for about a year. Adam had virtually moved in to his boyfriend’s house, not for any reason in particular, but he was encouraged by Joy to just, go.

Too many changes he wouldn’t have cared for before the incident.

But now they were destabilising, riling up his anxiety and paranoias about being alone. Being left alone to die.

_Disposed of._

Now here he was, laying on his bed. He couldn’t live on his own anymore, because he had to take way too many medications for his burnt up brain. He felt like a burden to everybody. Useless. Scared.

Then, there was the man who had saved him.

He was a surgeon in his platoon, but they had never spoken too much for the whole year they had spent together on the field. The other soldiers were enthralled at the fact that they both looked so similar, but their personalities didn’t match. Jack was hard to figure out, rough in manners and speech. Ahab was silent, a hard-working man. Ahab was gentler. Everyone would call Jack “Boss”, and he wouldn’t really treat his subordinates as such. They were all on the same ship, afterall.

Jack was put on a sneaking mission to save two prisoners, a child and a young woman. That was all he knew. Ahab was waiting in the chopper with the pilot and another medic. When he succeeded in escaping with both prisoners, the girl had started babbling something about bombs and Ahab found one in her stomach.

They thought they were safe.

But the girl stood up and ran for the chopper’s door before blowing up.

Ahab was there. To shield him. To protect him.

Jack sniffed, rubbing his nose with the side of a finger, before grabbing his phone and stare at the time. Five in the morning. He checked his conversation with Ahab; he hadn’t read two messages that were sent three hours prior.

_> Good night.  
>Tell me how you feel when you wake up._

Jack turned around in his bed, pressing the phone screen on the sheets to cover the light. The other man was too nice with him, maybe he was going to try to play with him. But how could he, if whenever they’d meet, Ahab was always so exhausted. Jack felt bad for doubting him, it wasn’t fair. The surgeon had lost it all, while he had still his body intact, more or less and his brain was just complaining for laughs, for making him feel needy.

Ahab made him want to talk and pour his feelings out. Ahab was something else entirely.

Jack fell asleep in that position and woke up when the sun faintly shone through the blinders. He checked the phone again, it was eight. He couldn’t really find a reason to stand up. He just stared at the wall and thought that he could sleep some more, but some voices from downstairs caught his attention. Probably his mother and her partner, talking. He didn’t really like her. This woman, Jacqueline Strangelove, was a scientist and ten years younger than Joy and she never seemed to fancy anyone that wasn’t his mother. He thought he would be accustomed to the idea of her being with someone else again, and he was, right before coming back home.

Someone knocked on the door. He didn’t reply.

A young, blond man stepped inside the room, his greyish eyes studying the man laying on the bed and giving him his back.

“Hey, John,”

Adam never called him Jack, he would only use his birth name.

“How are you?”

It was irritating. Everything was irritating. Jack had to stop himself from punching the wall. The silence was broken just by the boots of his brother, moving closer.

“Feeling _fine_ like always, aren’t you.” His tone wasn’t really out of mockery, but more like concern and resignation. Adam’s gloved hand barely touched the man’s hip, and he turned on his back, showing an ill, tired face.

Adam frowned, just briefly.

“Why did you come back?” the low, grumbling voice of his brother made the young man recover his usual tricky smile. He was way better at hiding his own emotions, compared to Jack. He was just like their mother.

Just like their mother.

“I still live here, even if you don’t like it.”

Jack stared at his brother as he sat down on his bed.

“You know, mom told me you go out, sometimes.” He crossed his legs, smiling curiously at him. “Where are you going?”

Jack’s eye fell back down.

“Places.”

“Why are you so boring to talk to?”

“Why don’t you shut up.” Jack stated, and slowly bumped a fist on his brother’s thigh. He retorted with a more heartfelt smile,

“But if I shut up, who’s gonna annoy you to stay alive? Get up, idiot.”

His brother had never treated him as if he was ill, as if he was to be handled with care. He wasn’t scared of his outbursts of violence, whenever they happened. When Adam had first seen him, he was emotionless. Expressionless. After two days, he was back to his usual self, as if he had somehow coped with the fact that his brother had been mauled by war.

The young man hopped on his feet and left the room without further questions. Apparently, he had stopped by just to get clean clothes.

Jack sighed and picked up the phone, staring at the screen once again. Half past nine. He still felt sick, his deepest wish to stay in bed forever, undisturbed. However, he managed to get up. His head was pulsating, as if it was trying to burst open.

Moving downstairs to get whatever would fit in his stomach, was strenuous. In his family, it was courteous to show a neutral face in most occasions; solemnity was very well instilled in both Jack and his brother, Joy being the epitome of it. Therefore, he would always look somewhat composed, in charge of his emotions. Most of the times. It was just a façade, though. He knew it.

Jack stepped in the kitchen, where apparently all the family _had_ to be cramped together as if that was the only place to be inhabitable in the whole house. He already had his stomach closing on him.

“You didn’t even put pants on?”

His mother’s partner, sitting at the table, was skipping through the pages of some random furniture catalogue, one of those you find in your mailbox in the morning.

The kitchen wasn’t too small and it also served the purpose of a dining room, but it surely felt suffocating to Jack. Three pair of eyes staring at him. His brain only registering them as people and not his family. Just a crowd.

“Doctor.” Joy’s voice came in, reprimanding the woman with a firm tone. Strangelove let out a sigh. She had white hair and extremely pale skin, bloodshot eyes and a pair of dark shades always on. She didn’t like men, she said; she had bad experiences. Jack didn’t really believe her to be mean on purpose. Adam once pointed out that it was probably because she was British. _You know, they’re bad sense of humour and all._

Jack sat down on one of the chairs and waited, staring down at his own bare knees. He was wearing a sweater that needed a wash and a pair of boxer. He waited for his mother to ask.

_How do you feel?_

_Like every day. Sick. Ill. Alone. Angry._

“I’m fine.”

Jack mumbled, one of his knees starting to jump up and down in a sign of discomfort. Adam, who had been leaning on the counter, moved to pour him a cup of tea. Joy had decided tea was better than coffee for his nerves.

It didn’t help much.

He was presented a yellow cup with breakfast tea inside.

“Well, at least you got up after I told you to.” Adam crossed his arms, already wearing his slim jeans jacket since he was probably going out. As Jack got his hand around the cup, Joy moved to the table and placed a small, plastic container near it; it had seven lids, covering each section, the days spelt with their initials labelled on top. “Eat something and then take today’s.” she bluntly said. Every word was like a knife, a reminder.

He couldn’t live like this.

A beat of lashes and half of his day was left forgotten, as he woke up again at three in the afternoon, on the couch. The TV was on commercials. He didn’t remember when he had turned it on; he didn’t remember big chunks of his day sometimes.

Jack sat up, numb. The house was quiet, maybe Joy was somewhere in the house or maybe not. The man snatched his phone from the floor it was laying on and saw a message from Adam,

_> I thought we could go places together  
>Kaz doesn’t mind you coming with us_

He opened the messaging application and he remembered about Ahab; the conversation left hanging. He thought that, well, he had just woken up to tell him how he felt. Jack’s comfort rested in cigars and alcohol, not enough to be inebriated by either though. Since he came back, his mother had offered him a cigar every three days. Alcohol, one glass of wine on Saturdays and Sundays, at dinner while under strict control.

But Jack wasn’t a child anymore.

He could just go out to drink and smoke. And he did. He felt like he needed a good drink to get this day over with, so he typed in.

_> Do you want to meet?_

_> I feel sick._

_> I want to drink and I don’t need her to know._

His big body slowly sunk on his side, onto the couch’s back. His eye staring into the screen, before he swapped to Adam’s conversation.

_> Maybe._

He didn’t press send, that felt way too rude even for him; he had always had troubles understating people’s emotions, and his brother was already hard to guess to begin with. His next best guess was to soften his reply.

_> Maybe we can go out next week._

His right hand twitched nervously in a fist. He sent the message and plopped the phone back on the sofa, as he got up and stretched himself, passing a hand in his hair. It stuck up on its own.

The phone went off and deep inside, he hoped it wasn’t Adam.

_> Ok. I don’t feel well either._

_> Don’t drink without me. What if you get worse?_

Jack smirked and let out a small snicker. _There’s no way I can get worse_ , he thought. Now, he definitely needed to shower and get decent enough to go out. He usually didn’t care how he’d go out, if it was just to drink. However, this had a different tone for Jack.

If Ahab were to see him like this, it wouldn’t do him any good.

If Ahab were to see him like this.


	2. Journey to the Underworld

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Journey to the underworld: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tSJhgEJifQc

Ahab was reading the label on the bottle of rum, resting on the couch. His _boss_ did seem pretty sick, but he didn’t ask anything. Their silence was an unspoken rule, heavy to abide to. Jack came from the kitchen with two glasses and placed them on the table before roughly sitting down on the couch with a huff.

“Give me that.”

The younger man ordered, waiting for Ahab to push the bottle towards him.

“You got Montilla?”

“Yeah, doesn’t he look like me?” Jack got the bottle up near his face, his expression serious as always. The label showed a pirate with an eyepatch on his right eye.

“It looks like me, too.” Ahab stated, covering his blind eye with his only hand, probably thinking it was some kind of sad, unfunny joke between them. He then added,

“I like Bacardi more.”

“You get what you get.” Jack cracked a small smirk as he poured the alcohol down in the glasses, “Bacardi though, really? You’re not twenty anymore.”

Ahab wasn’t fooled by his boss’ attempt to hide his distress. He could sense the nervousness from the way he filled up the drinks, the jumpiness in his motions. His strained voice.

He observed Jack fishing out a cigar from the bag he came in with and getting his lighter from the abandoned leather jacket resting on the sofa’s armrest.

The click on the lighter. Jack tried.

Again.

Again.

He tried to light up the cigar, sliding his finger on the metal, hoping for a spark. Wishing for a small relief from the pain.

Ahab waited for the violence to come out and a spark was lit, but not the lighter’s. Jack’s grip tightened around the small thing and he angrily threw it to the other side of the room.

“ _This fucking thing never works!_ ”

He shouted, the cigar dropping from his mouth. The older man’s stare was fixed on Jack’s defusing, his eye glued to the carpet while his hands were paralysed by tension. In the man’s head, a turmoil of voices and so much anger, so much anger he could build a fort, a nation out of it.

“Boss, don’t throw things inside the house.” Ahab spoke calmly, as he was used to it now. He scooted closer, picking up the cigar from the carpet.

“Leave it.” Jack’s coarse voice was even lower than the usual, trying to mask the agitated tone.

“It’s okay.”

“I said _leave it_.” He cut Ahab off, finally facing the surgeon with a menacing eye. The man’s calm expression contrasted with the storm happening inside his boss. He kept doing his task, slowly placing the cigar on the table; he got up with a huff. It was tiring, dealing with this, but it was better Jack was violent with him, he thought. It was better this way.

“Ahab.”

Jack’s voice felt like an order. Ahab ignored it, walking to point where the lighter had been so wildly disposed of.

“This is my house.” He sighed out, grabbing the thing from the floor and moving back to the couch. Jack’s expression started to twist; transform.

“If you behave like this, after a while you’ll only have people cleaning up your mess.”

Ahab’s finger slid on the lighter’s wheel and the spark appeared in front of the younger man’s blue eye, anger still burning deep down.

Sometimes, Ahab reminded Jack of his mother in the way he spoke about things. He was deep, you could get lost if you went too far down from the surface. He thought Adam was the only one that could be that dangerous. Clearly, he was wrong.

Jack lost the battle, dropping his sight once more and gripping on one of the glasses filled with rum he had poured himself. It was a little more of what one would usually get. There wasn’t even ice in it, just plain alcoholic stupor. Ahab closed the lighter and sat down again, a little farther this time. He moved the lighter in his hand, the only sound in the room was the clock up on the wall.

Jack gulped the drink in three sips and breathed out in exasperation for his behaviour. This was horrible. He felt horrible.

He left the glass hanging mid-air, only held by his thumb and middle finger. The other hand was arched, resting on his forehead to cover his guilty eye.

“I’m sorry.”

He eventually murmured. His pride was swallowed down with force, trying to fix this unfortunate outcome. His mind kept telling him everyone was out to get him, everyone was trying to kill him; but at the same time, it was whispering that he didn’t want to stay alone, he wanted his mother to be proud, he wanted to connect again.

He didn’t want Ahab to see him like this.

“Don’t do this again.” Ahab’s phantom arm was starting to hurt and he had a slight headache. “Please.” He tiredly begged for peace. This was incredibly hard to deal with, managing Jack while feeling fluctuating. Escaping reality. The surgeon had troubles sleeping and staying awake – the metal was an indomitable opponent, as it pushed on his brain. He knew he became a pitiful shadow of a man. Humiliating.

His boss turned around, seeing his friend’s exhausted face made something inside of him hurt. It hurt looking at him. At first, he thought it was pity, which was bad enough. Actually, it was just a strong sense of worry. He left the glass near the cigar and feared his next move, reaching out a hand. He wasn’t a soft, touchy person. He wasn’t used to feel like this.

The big, warm hand touched the taller man’s back in an awkward, yet apologetic gesture.

“Does your arm hurt?”

“It does.”

“Can I do something to help?”

Ahab lifted his hand and lighted up the spark again, staring at the small flame.

“Make me smoke your cigar.”

\--

Rain softly fell from the sky, alerting everyone that autumn was at its peak; the chills of the wind gusts became cold lashes against the faces of those who dared walking around in this weather. Joy stared at her front yard, the window half open to let some fresh air in. She sat solemnly on a stool with her arms folded, waiting.

“You know he’s back from war already, right?”

A pale hand moved to rest on one of Joy’s shoulders. She didn’t move. Her eyes were stuck on the path to their house, expecting to see her son coming back home. Jacqueline gazed at her profile, fixated in that marble expression you’d find in a Bernini sculpture. It wasn’t intimidating, or at least not anymore. Since her oldest son had come back from the front, she had been wearing her failure as a mother on her face, like a grieving veil. She was a soldier, too, and she knew what war was and what war does. It kidnaps you and holds you prisoner, forever. She had let her boy go, fully knowing the consequences – but the first lost battle in her career was the one she fought against herself.

Seeing Jack slowly escaping her arms, falling further away, deeper into the mud that is anxiety, that is fear. And she had tried so hard to tear his fort of rage down, to no vail. His son was good at building walls, isolating himself.

She couldn’t reach out to help Jack.

She couldn’t forgive herself, for how she let war destroy her child.

“He’s not back, doctor. He’ll never come back.”

Jacqueline let out a small sigh, closing the window and somehow managing to make Joy frown, as if she had disturbed her silent waiting.

“You all are such a mess.” she turned around, facing her beloved with a melancholic smile. Joy stared in those pale blue eyes for a moment, so rarely seen without the thick black shades she used. She gently drew out her hands to place them on the younger woman’s hips.

“At first I couldn’t understand why your son kept saying he was fine, when he’s _clearly_ not,” she continued, taking a step closer so that Joy could have a better hold of her, “but then I see you, and everything is much clearer.”

Jacqueline gladly allowed the older woman to rest her forehead on her chest, while she felt the need to fill that intrusive silence Joy liked so much.

“Jack is just like you. At least Adam speaks a little more, he _acts_ interested.” The doctor heard a small laugh escape Joy’s mouth, even though she couldn’t see it.

“He does act, indeed.”

Joy lifted her head up and moved it to the side, just a little, to keep an eye on the window.

“ _Your_ acting is fading, though.” The doctor moved her hands, lifting her partner’s face to meet her ice-cold eyes. Her jaw and cheekbones were so sharp, but had a latent feminine tone to them, which contrasted with the harshness of her silhouette and muscular body. Maybe that was what charmed Jacqueline at first, or maybe it was the way Joy looked at the world; the way she spoke about things and Jacqueline would never be sure she had understood her words.

_Joy never spoke about her own feelings. She liked to keep quiet, but her ideas were loud; she would explain them with her back straight and her stance tall._

Her father had placed in Joy the love for his country, loyalty to the end – whatever the endgame would be. She, then, taught the same to her sons. However, she had never been fit for the part of the good, warm mother she always desired.

Because she was just one person serving her country, she was a soldier.

However, she had retired a couple of years prior Jack’s leave, meaning she was forced to face the truth and hardship of being inadequate to an everyday life, to see herself struggling to understand,

To understand her own sons.

And when Jack came back, it was even more puzzling. Almost,

_terrifying._

Adam was still young, and yet he had grasped what his mother missed: the social acting, the good face in adversities, figuring the everyman out.

But Jack,

Jack was a naïve man. He trusted people too much.

_Jack never spoke about his feelings; he kept quiet but his ideas resonated in others as if he had touched their hearts._

That’s what scared Joy the most, the fact that she had led her son into social isolation. It’s not like the man didn’t have friends, but it seemed like he had hard times making connections, feeling attached to others, much like her.

She took her sons for granted,

Adam had taught himself,

Jack got lost.

“I’m probably not as good as he is, am I.” Joy showed a small, bitter smile. She found the warmth of doctor Strangelove’s lips on hers, to soothe her spirit. Joy loved the way Jacqueline was logical, enough to distance herself from the mess and still be able to support Joy’s forced composure.

“Let’s have some tea. Possibly, away from the window.”

The doctor said when their lips parted and Joy’s smile grew a little warmer, standing up from the stool. She slid a hand to hold the younger woman’s. The difference in their field of work was undoubted, as Jacqueline’s hands were fair and soft; Joy’s were ruined, hardened by sweat and dust.

They had tea together, that evening. Joy kept waiting for his son to come home.

\--

“That ugly cat looks like you.”

“You’re confirming your bad taste, then.” Adam had his hands in his jacket’s pockets, smirking at a younger man – still a boy, actually. His vivid blond hair sported an unfashionable cut that would have fitted better in the seventies; a pair of aviator sunglasses rested on top of it. Kazuhira “Kaz” Miller was eighteen, healthy and liked playing his acoustic guitar way too much. The boy grinned back, a sassy expression overcoming his face.

“Glad to see you’re okay with being ugly.”

He was Adam’s boyfriend. They had met in school before he graduated. They were usually found discussing topics on which they had almost completely different opinions about, except that wasn’t really true; it was just the way they worded their positions that was different. The odd couple, though, was more like cat and dog than they’d like to believe and it was the difference between them that kept the thrill of the relationship alive.

They were stalling in front of a brightly lit shop, it sold shoes and clothes but stuffed animals were placed on the ground of one of the windows, cats and bunnies. Kaz held onto Adam’s arm, leaning closer.

“Okay, how are we going to do this.” He demanded in a low whisper, getting his sunglasses down as to show how serious he was about their ordeal.

“There’s nothing that we _do_ , besides acting normal.” Adam lifted his eyebrows in an unsurprised look, “It’ll be a slow day. I told him you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t mind such a hunk walking with us.” Kaz turned his head, looking at the strained yet attractive man sitting on one of the mall benches. Some people would pass by and hold their gaze on him, wondering about his eye covered with an eyepatch. “But we just got here and he’s already tired.” The young man lamented, a little concern in his voice.

“It’ll be alright.” Adam smiled, one of his cryptic, unintelligible smiles. “Now, go fetch me my brother.”

“I’m no dog, you creep.” Kaz slapped the back of Adam’s head, who let out a chuckle and massaged the hit part. His eyes followed his boyfriend walking up to Jack, his mother’s seriousness slipping on his stance and expression, like a looming shadow.

Adam couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could imagine it very well. Those men weren’t hard to read, their reactions were very easy to predict. At least, Jack’s were, before the accident.

_Adam and I are going to take a walk around the shops, are you alright? You wanna sit here some more?_

Kaz had always been awkward with his brother.

_I’m good._

It might have been the age gap, or the way Jack showed himself: very powerful, a big presence – even if shorter than Kaz himself, an almost leader-like aura. He had a charm to him Adam always loved. Since Jack had come home, though, Kaz seemed scared the man could snap at him at any moment. The boy was ashamed about thinking such malevolent things, but he couldn’t help it.

_Okay then._

Kaz smiled, not knowing whether to wait for Jack or go back to where Adam was standing. He decided to wait. It wasn’t easy for the man to deal with an overwhelming amount of sounds, voices and people around him. Many of those were just noises that would strike anxiety down his spine, triggering memories of the field. Sometimes he could manage to ignore them, sometimes he couldn’t.

Kaz noticed Jack had shaved his beard back to a normal, presentable length, actually combing his hair for a change, wondering if Joy had forced him to do that.

Jack moved in front of the boy, trying to show off the usual confidence his walk was known for. The trial failed, as his pacing rhythm clearly showed signs of tenseness. His clasped fists, his hunched shoulders, his always-vigilant eye. It seemed he was ready to kill someone.

Adam smiled at his brother, affectionately patting his cheek with his gloved hand brushing against the man’s beard.

“Come on, chin up. It’s good to see you trying.”

He received a grunt in response and an odd, rueful frown. Kaz popped near Adam’s side and made evident how jumpy he was around Jack, by clumsily patting the older man’s arm, forcing a grin,

“Yeah! You’re doing good!”

“I said _act normally_ , not _act like a moron_.” Adam rolled his eyes before throwing a look at his boyfriend, who quickly retreated his hand.

“What? I was just complimenting him!” He retorted, his blue eyes covered by the shades were clearly embarrassed by this little try-hard attempt. The couple changed the topic of their fight as quickly as a blink of an eye, and Jack quietly followed them, wondering what made Kaz become so strange around him. Actually, he _knew_ what, but it was hard to accept. The boy never had the chance to meet him before the accident, and much like doctor Strangelove, his knowledge of the man was partial with just what his family had explained.

Kaz wasn’t a bad kid, he just wasn’t used to that life. He wasn’t used to Jack’s life. That was fine; at least Adam had found someone that wasn’t a socially unskilled inept.

Jack ended up looking at his brother, laughing at his boyfriend’s angry face, picking up the scene they were playing out, a well-acted the bickering duo. It was enjoyable, in a way.

“I need pants, we’re heading in this shop. You coming?” Adam asked, adding, “We’ll go home when I’m done here.” His thin eyes were so fitting with his composed, pleased face, much like a cat’s. “Hopefully you didn’t get too strained by the mall.”

Jack shook his head. He had already seen a place he wanted to visit, so he pointed his thumb behind his shoulders, the other hand lazily resting in his leather jacket’s pocket.

“No, I wanted to check another store we skipped past earlier.”

_How do you thank someone?_

Jack briefly thought.

_How do you thank Adam?_

He reached out a hand and placed it on his brother’s shoulder, in a clunky and almost robotic gesture. The hand’s strong hold on Adam made him freeze, feeling like he was in a grip; the gesture completely unexpected. Kaz accidentally let his confused frown surface, but he was lucky enough to have his sunglasses shield half of his face.

“Just call me when you’re done. We’ll meet here.”

The two young men were left standing near the store, as people walked by, ignoring their perplexed expressions. Adam touched the place on his shoulder were his brother’s hand rested, just a moment ago, whispering _ouch_.

Jack walked away, slightly embarrassed at how bad he was at this; how he became even worse. His hand huffily sought in his pocket for his phone, checking the time and no new messages. He had one notification left hanging, his old friend Eva wanted to dine together at some point, but he thought he would reply to it later.

The store he stopped at was a toyshop, mostly handmade. It was small and quiet. The window was well decorated with wooden animals, small figurines made of plastic and stuffed animals. The name of the shop was printed in a bright azure-blue on the door, _El colibrí_. He stepped in, the bell on the door ringing and a girl with reddish hair lifted her head from the newspaper she was reading while sitting down at the counter.

“Hello, may I help you?” She asked, moving to close the newspaper but Jack shook his hand and stopped her with an _I’m just looking_. She didn’t smile, but assured him to ask for anything if he needed to. Jack started to roam the small place, filled with toys for all ages. The shelves were tidily packed with brand toys too.

He stopped to look at the dolls section, picking a rag doll up. He studied the dark complexion of the toy, her black hair in braids and the cute, frilly dress covering up the flat, stuffed body. She was smiling. There were many other clothes for her type aligned on some hangers, and he took one; a pretty dress with a pattern of pastel yellow and white squares. He contemplated the doll for a moment, before putting her and her dress back in their place. Every time he would get stuck looking at these things, fighting them off like distractions. Nonsense.

That shop felt safer than expected, as Spanish music – mostly acoustic instruments – played softly in the background. There weren’t unexpected noises. He passed more stuffed toys, but a brown bear sitting on the shelf caught his eye. The bear had a small red bow around its neck and the expression he had made it seem a little sad. Ahab passed through Jack’s mind and he let out a chuckle. His hand slipped in his pocket to fetch the phone, taking a picture and attaching it to a message.

_˃It reminded me of you._

He typed, but suddenly halted his thumbs. He assumed that maybe, _maybe that’s just stupid. It’s irrelevant, childish. I should stop thinking about these things, I’m thirty._ A rush of sudden fatigue hit him, as he locked the phone screen with the message still hanging. It all became so dull, hiding himself under supposed words of wisdom. _Stop doing that, stop thinking that, you’re not supposed to be like this._

Turning the small isle, he was surprised by a child sitting down on the ground. He was very focused on putting together a scene with some figures depicting monsters or animals. It didn’t seem like the boy had randomly started putting together the piece himself, but he was following some instructions scattered on the floor. He rose his head from the toys.

“Hello.” He said.

His straight, brown hair fell flat on his head, even though they were short and by the look of it, he couldn’t be older than seven or eight years old. He reached out a hand, holding a dinosaur-like monster.

“Do you know Nessie?”

“Nessie?” Jack replied quite perplexed, without even questioning the child’s odd question.

“She’s the Loch Ness monster!” He seemed very concerned on the fact that the man in front of him didn’t know who or what Nessie was.

“Oh” he paused “Right, Nessie.”

“I think it’s a long-lost dinosaur, don’t you?” the boy put the _long-lost dinosaur_ on a wooden plank, covered in green paper that would host the little display. Jack uttered an awkward _uh, sure, why not_. “One of my sister’s friends gave me a book about it, with photos.”

Jack crouched down to give the child a fair view.

“Do you like U.M.A.s?” He took another monster to place on the plank.

“U.M.A.s?”

The boy turned his head to face Jack’s only eye and frowned, explaining the acronym “Unidentified mysterious animals!” Jack thought the kid was endearing enough to sit down with him and forget about the time. “My dad made all of these, he’s great.”

The man picked up a white, ape-like figurine.

“What’s this one?”

“That’s the Yeti. It lives on the Himalayan Mountains.” Jack smiled as the child told him where to place the monster on the display plank. The man, then, was presented a long snake, with small horns and bumps on its back. “You can have that,” he explained, “it’s an Ogopogo. It’s like Nessie, but Canadian.”

“Thanks.” Jack moved the monster in his hand, making a grateful gesture. He felt his jacket vibrating and checked the phone.

_˃We’re done and waiting._

He didn’t bother to unlock the screen to reply, knowing what other message would wait there, so he stood up.

“Good luck with your monsters.”

“Thank you, you too.”

Jack was puzzled by that child, indeed. He headed to the register to pay for his Ogopogo present and the girl at the counter, probably _the sister_ , took the figure and beeped the price in. This time, she grinned.

“This is a fine piece, handmade by my father.”

“So I’ve heard.” She let out a chuckle and replied, “You’ve met my brother, I assume.”

Jack nodded and took his wallet out to pay. After she handed a small bag to him, she offered her hand. “I’m Amanda.”

“Ah. I’m Jack.” He shook it.

“My brother’s called Ricardo, but everyone calls him“

The words slowed down,

“Chico.”

Jack felt a rush of cold sweat on his back. It was the same name. The same name they used to call the teen he saved before the accident. He felt his palms become sweaty, seeing the scene, once again, in front of his eyes.

He kept it in.

“Maybe I’ll come back.”

He managed to say, clenching his hand around the paper bag’s handles. Amanda waved and thanked him, as his feet, heavy like stone, dragged him out of the store.

Adam saw him coming, rushing like a storm.

Adam thought it was a good idea to go back home, immediately.

\--

Kaz’s mother had lent them her car and Adam had already dropped his boyfriend off at his house, saying he would come back after leaving Jack home. The boy felt the need to point out to be careful with the car, since he knew how bad Adam was with cars.

Yet, Adam had still to come back.

The two brothers were sitting in the vehicle, parked in front of their childhood house. Silence kept them chained, like an unspoken rule only the younger could break.

“Can you _please_ tell me what happened?”

Jack drove all the patience out of him, slowly, but he did nonetheless. “You used to blab so much, what’s up with this? Do I have to punch the words out of you?”

His brother held the paper bag with both hands, almost cupping it all in a hug. His eye was looking up in front of him, staring at the window; his mother stared back.

_Why are we here? Sitting here, being judged? Why is this happening, why does this happen all the time?_

“I used to talk about bullshit.”

“At least it was entertaining to listen to.”

Adam rested his arm on the gap between the car’s door and the window, trying to make the man speak. A slight frown on his face; his brother was tough.

“I remembered something bad, that’s all.”

Jack could leave at any moment. He could just get out and walk in, but he felt safer with his brother’s torturing questioning than his mother’s eyes. He was

He was so exhausted.

It was crushing, whatever this was. It was driving him insane and he couldn’t cope, he couldn’t believe he needed this little to just break down in a million pieces. His knees seemed to get closer, as he found himself hunching over, as if he was trying to hide. Adam called him out with a confused _John?_

Tears dampened his eye and he shut it, ignoring what he was feeling.

_Keep it in_

_Don’t let it out_

A ticking bomb.

 

_You shouldn’t be like this_

 

The doll, and the dress, the toy store. The boy; the flames. The chopper and the pain.

 

_You should be_

_Stronger_

He had been fine up to now, being told what to do. Society knew, the military knew what was good for him. War knew what it meant to be a veteran; to come back. There is no place for these thoughts, there is no place for being something so _weak_.

_You should be_

_A man_

Jack’s sobs had an effect on Adam he never quite expected. They grew louder by the second and the young man found himself in the position of not knowing what to do. His hand rapidly waved to his mother, still waiting at the window, as he got out from the car to walk on the other side and open the door on Jack’s side.

“John? John, calm down.” He tried putting his hand on the man’s trembling back before his mother came out, not even wearing a jacket. She gently pushed Adam away.

_Jack._

_Jack, it’s okay._

_I’m here now._

_Jack_ , she called for him, as she had to force his son out from that cocoon he made with his body. Joy was able to rise up his face, showing a frantic face to the grey almost winter sky. He was crying so much, huffing in panic. Her voice came to Adam like a soothing reassurance, “He’ll be fine, Adam. Go inside.”

He hesitated, staring at his brother just like the first time he saw him back from war. Adam saw this as if they were both children again; a three year old staring at his twelve years old big brother crying his eyes out. He nodded and went for the door, blocking Jacqueline from investigating any further.

Joy wrapped her arms around her son, crouching down with a knee inside the car. She was welcomed by Jack’s strong hold on her hips as he kept crying. _Mom_ , he breathed out, _Mom, I’m so sorry._

_Mom, I don’t want this._

_Mom._

Joy kept her arms on him, trying to cradle out his grief. _Please, my child, let me in. Let me understand. Let me help you,_ she thought but the words didn’t come out her mouth.

That night, when Jack was lying on the bed, dazed into his after meds stupor, he stared at the message he had wanted to send Ahab hours prior.

He did it, in the end.

The man on the other side saw it rather quickly.

_˃That is cute._

He simply replied.

_˃Thank you, boss._

Tears appeared again, streaming down his cheeks, but this time they were modest and silent.

It made him feel a little better.

\--

 _Although I wasn't there_ __  
He said I was his friend  
Which came as some surprise 

The song roared in his head like a drum, louder than his own thoughts. He stared at himself listening to it with other soldiers as they shared a meal; it made his head hurt.

It made him want to hurl.

 _I spoke into his eyes_ __  
I thought you died alone  
A long long time ago

His left arm was suddenly burning with pain, he looked down and it was gone. Everything stopped. Then he heard his boss’ voice,

_We must have died alone, a long long time ago._

Ahab woke up in a sea of sweat, the pain coming from his arm was insufferable. His mouth dry like the desert as he whispered _Quiet, Quiet_. His remaining hand bumped on the bedside table, lighting up the room with a lamp.

He was freezing, as his muscles cramped down because of his shivering. His body almost naturally curled up on itself, trying to find warmth and comfort. The metal made his head pound, like a drum,

Like a drum.

From the corridor, he heard the toilet’s flush sound and the click of the bathroom’s door. He took the chance, searching for the strength to call the girl again.

“Quiet!”

Footsteps hurried to his bedroom, and he saw the girl in a pair of man’s shorts and a different type of oversized sweater. She walked close to the man and knelt down, her brows furrowed in a concerned expression. Her hand felt his forehead, confirming him with a rather normal temperature.

Quiet was just a girl, she was no medic, but Ahab had taught her how to be helpful in these situations; she gestured a waiting sign, and left the room to go fetch a plastic bottle and Ahab’s prescribed painkillers.

The man was almost forced by her to sit up, trembling like a twig in a storm. She made him drink some water with the medicine and patted his back.

Ahab eventually calmed down enough to hold the bottle himself, sipping from it every now and then. Sometimes, coughs interrupted his recovery from the shivers.

“Sorry.” He managed to say after ten minutes. Quiet shook her head and held onto his arm, humming a melody she had started to use to calm Ahab’s nerves, whenever he accidentally had these little incidents. He exhaled, trying to relax his mind to the hum.

“I have a doctor’s appointment today.”

Quiet stopped and looked at him.

“Not the best way to start the day.” Ahab showed a sad, small grin on his face. He thought this young girl shouldn’t be his caretaker, she had her own life to live. Yet, she meekly helped changing the bed sheets, while he awkwardly threw the sweaty shirt on the floor and got himself in a new one.

After he took care of that, he sat on the chair he used to rest used clothes on and his eyes moved over to Quiet, attentively making the bed; she was like family to him. His only family.

Quiet exited the room as soon as the man was in bed again, apologising yet again. _I didn’t mean to wake you up_ , even though he had never seen the girl sleep. He wondered if she did that, ever.

Her own cramped living space welcomed her back, as she wore a gloomy shadow on her face. A sigh escaped her mouth.

Ahab

Ahab was a lonely person.

The man was an orphan, but unlike Jack, he hadn’t been so lucky. He never got adopted, but at the same time, he had never been thrown away either. He just lived in an orphanage with good teachers. When he was a young man, he was able to study as a medic after joining a military academy.

Quiet had met him when she had run away from a terrible place. A terrible environment.

Ahab was kind.

He liked to listen to eighties music. He liked old movies, his favourite being Terminator 2. The kitchen used to be a lively place for him, where he studied and cooked, even though he wasn’t that good but he managed; he thought people were challenging but he never shied away from them, not too much at least.

Quiet, on the other hand, didn’t like people. She didn’t trust them. She didn’t like his _boss_ too much either. But Ahab was different, he was a loveable man.

When he came back as if Hell had spat him out, she couldn’t keep the tears in. After two years of leave, letters, rushed video-calls, the nice man she knew was morphed into something that resembled a ghost, a phantom.

She sobbed in her room, after meeting him. It would have been too mean to do so in front of him, he didn’t deserve that.

The girl sat down on her bed and got her laptop back on her knees, the only light in the whole room. It was two in the morning.

She wrote in a chat box, the messages sent to a person called _Pequod_.

_˃Q: Sorry, my friend was sick I had to help him out_

_˃P:  Again? Was it bad this time?_

_˃Q: No, I think he’s doing better. He’s going to the doctor later today_

_˃P: I wish him the best of luck_

\--

The smell of the hospital had never made him feel as disgusted as he was now. Somehow, these weekly visits made him more unnerved than he usually was, even though he could generally understand what was going on with his body. His long coat was neatly folded around his sane arm, as he held it against his chest like much like a shield. Even in a place like this, people stared.

People always stared.

He had been waiting for ten, probably fifteen minutes but the wait prospected to be way longer, like usual. Ahab rose his non-existent hand to his face, before realising he couldn’t pass it on his face. Nothing hit his cheeks, just air.

Somehow, that made him feel embarrassed, even though he knew it was a perfectly normal reaction. His head, though, decided it was fair enough to start hurting as if he had banged the metal on the wall.

His eyes fell close, trying to avoid thinking too much about his situation. The doctor would tell him he was getting better, even though he couldn’t feel any difference. He just felt horrible, all the time. Tired. Dying. Then, rinse and repeat, for another week. It would soon become bi-weekly. Monthly, every six-months, yearly and so on. Nothing was going to change.

He would be stuck like this.

A lonely, half-man.

Suddenly, his phone started buzzing for an incoming call, waking him up from his own self-pity. _Boss_.

“Hello?” he replied with a husky voice.

“I know you have your visit today.”

Straight to the chase, Jack didn’t even say hi, but the other man’s voice made Ahab feel more at ease, in a way he couldn’t really explain. Their last exchange had been three days prior; they didn’t see each other for almost two weeks.

That call was unexpected, and yet, it was very much expected. Jack continued,

“Just keep calm, alright?” his voice halted for a second, resuming with his usual boasting tone, “If the doctor tells you you’re good, we can go out eat something to celebrate.”

Ahab could clearly picture the younger man’s face averting his eye, trying to hide his embarrassment. Oddly enough, it was a rather cute behaviour, if that was even the correct word.

His phantom hand would have clutched against the fabric of his jeans if only had it been there, but a small smile broke on the medic’s rugged lips.

“What would you like to eat?”

Jack chuckled.

“I eat everything. Whatever you want, it’s fine with me.”

“Good.” He wanted to linger on the phone a bit more, holding onto the absence. Cautiously letting his mind roam to a future in which he could ask him to come and wait there, with him. Jack’s presence made everything less overwhelming, less scary, even though he was a handful of problems himself.

“How are you doing? We didn’t talk much in these past days.”

“I had a bad dream this morning, it woke me up.”

“What did you dream?”

“Vampires.” Ahab heard the other man’s voice rise up from the monotone, _that’s not funny_ , he heard Jack shout as the older man huffed a silent laugh. _Vampires are freaky_ , he continued, _I hope you never dream of them for real_.

When Jack was relaxed enough, one could see how nice he actually was; sometimes it reminded Ahab of a child in the best way possible, it was endearing.

“Anyway, thank you for calling me.”

Ahab felt a little agitated. However, to his surprise, it wasn’t the usual anxiety making him flush up and get a sweaty palm. The fact that someone else remembered him, cared for him was,

It was spectacular.

He loved every single moment Jack worried about him, trying to make him feel better.

“Don’t mention it. I’m sure it’ll go fine.”

“Just because you want to eat out, right?”

“You got me.”

They ended the call with Ahab promising to write him as soon as he was done with the visit. The man felt his headache ease a little while he waited for his turn, staring at his phone’s screen with a soft smile.


	3. Underneath the skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> music for the soul: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6MZgCfAz8eg
> 
> Edited the whole chapter, I'm so sorry there were so many mistakes!

It had snowed during the night, the first of the year. A little unusual for being early December but the weather reports said it was going to be a harsh winter. Jack had been cleaning the front yard, shovelling the night’s piled up leftovers until he felt his forehead going cold and his cheeks flush from the frosty breeze.

There was no real need to clean the front yard.

He just wanted to do something manual to get thoughts flood into his hands, instead than running wild through his mind. With a fierce motion, he planted the shovel in the dirt in front of where once used to be flowers; his mother’s hobby, put on hold during the cold season. His eye dropped on the perennial plants, untouched by the rigidness of the wind and snow. The stars of Bethlehem were his mother’s favourite, and she left them on the side of the house to accompany the family through the years.

Jack knelt down, touching one of the flowers with a gentle brush of his gloved finger. A puff of hot air from his mouth made a trail of vapour as he moved, picking up four of the white flowers. The warmth of the house welcomed him, as he stepped back inside, placing the small bouquet on the table near the front door while he removed the scarf, coat and gloves to hang them.

From the table, he only took back three and headed to the kitchen, where his mother was trying to cook something. Not sure what, but Jack was used to eat whatever, so he never really cared too much about the taste. There were only the two of them for lunch, that day. It felt a little unnerving, but he had to start somewhere; he couldn’t avoid his mother forever.

At some point, he would have to look into her eyes and hold that gaze.

“Mom.” He quietly called her, as he walked where he heard noise. Joy had just placed a lid on a pot, just like a witch would do with her mysterious concoctions. Housework never fitted her and Jack found that to be comforting, as if his mother hadn’t really changed.

As if he hadn’t really changed.

“How’s outside?” her voice was clear and emotionless, as she turned to look at her son. Her hair, tied up in a ponytail, fell clean on her back. She had been thinking about cutting it off. The white apron she was wearing made Jack want to laugh but it didn’t feel right yet. It didn’t feel like he could. Not yet.

“I cleaned it all the way to the street.” Jack stepped closer and hold the flowers up, his gesture a little awkward but it looked more nonchalant than anything else he could do in that moment, “I picked these up for you.”

Joy’s eyes blinked for a moment, as she went from looking at the flowers to her son’s face. Jack had such pure intentions, sometimes. Truly baffling. He did the same when he was a little boy, and when he was a teen, whenever he felt like apologising he would go pick up the flowers outside for her. _Because you like them_ , Jack had told his mother when he was eight, _and they make you smile._

And Joy couldn’t help but smile. She picked the flowers from the man’s hand.

Her son was having a hard times understanding himself now, but this moved something in Joy, as if he was finally trying to peek out from his fortress of anger. Her hand caressed Jack’s cheek, as she kept smiling.

“Thank you.”

Of course he frowned back at that, of course he looked down, of course he was embarrassed. Joy couldn’t let the chance slip through her hands, and the mother’s heart overcame the soldier’s mind.

“Come here, you big child.” Her arms were strong, but not big enough to hold the man anymore, and yet, he tried to make himself as small as possible to fit in, wrapping his arms around her. His head rested on her shoulder. Joy’s hand started brushing Jack’s hair, whispering

_I’m proud of you._

He shifted his face from the side, hiding into the shoulder.

“I’m not making it up, Jack.” The soft brush became little, but strong, pats on his head and he started to grunt. “Get it into your head or I’ll have to find some other way.”

“Please,” he whined with a muffled voice, “no CQC.”

“We’ll see.”

Then he suddenly lifted his head, his nose sniffing out something.

“Something’s burning.”

Joy frowned and left him immediately, placing the flowers on the counter to go and save whatever she was trying to make, uttering _shit_ under her breath. Jack moved closer to inspect that _whatever_ in the pot, while grabbing one of the glass containers near the stove, taking out some nuts to eat like popcorns at a movie.

“It looks bad.”

“You’re gonna eat it anyway.”

“I sure am.” He said, his mouth full. She took the container away from his hands and slapped his shoulder, reprimanding him about eating before lunch.

It was nice.

\--

The single flower left was for him.

The look he gave at himself in the mirror was puzzled, dissatisfied. Jack’s body was made to be the epitome of a _man_ , of a _soldier_ , of anything that was considered masculine by any means. Yet, he thought having that white flower in his hair felt _good_.

He had always seen feminine clothes as something interesting. Pretty to look at. They were so foreign and far from his household that they picked his interest, whenever he would spot something he liked. He didn’t feel like he wanted _to become_ a woman, but it happened that he would think about wearing a skirt, or make up.

Because they looked _good_ , virtually. It seemed fun. It made _him_ feel _good_.

However, he never really tried anything of that, actually, because he was just not _fit_ for them. Wearing a dress, a skirt, make up. It was a joke.

All these thoughts, they were just jokes.

Joy had never taught her sons that feminine things were something to be frown upon, or that being a woman made you weak. She was the complete opposite. Her strong demeanour taught them that women were tough, patient and strong-willed.

But the man of the street didn’t think the same, the man of the street would see Jack and think he would be a disgrace in a skirt, a freak. The military would think of him as a shame.

So, everything was a joke. Just playing pretend in front of a mirror. An almost thirty-year-old man, war veteran, without an eye, a serpent-like scar running through his torso. It would be a killer gag.

As he often did, Jack took off the flower from his hair, the roars of laughs from that implausible audience stopped. The show was over, again.

He left it on his bedroom’s desk to whiter.

\--

The eyepatch was fancy for him, maybe too much, Ahab thought as he adjusted it on his face. His freshly shaved beard fitted his face perfectly, with his ponytail wrapping his clean hair, giving him a healthier look than the usual.

He dressed up rather well for his nowadays standards. Quiet helped him buttoning up his white shirt, folding the empty sleeve up to the stump so it wouldn’t hang around. His dark blue jeans were a nice, fitting size, a little high waisted. One could smell the slight perfume of cologne coming from him.

Jack had invited him to his house, for the first time in five months. He didn’t want to make himself look like a fool, showing up to someone else’s house like the usual slob he was these days; that was an incredible motivator.

He almost felt excited again.

The man managed to put on his coat and Quiet made sure his scarf was well placed around his neck. A little black bag dropped from the side of the tall medic, inside his phone, medicines and other small things he needed.

As he left the apartment, Quiet waved and a small part of her believed that maybe, just maybe, that _boss_ of his wasn’t that bad if that meant Ahab would get to feel something again, would get to live again.

The ride to the appointed bus stop was silent and uneventful, even though it took half an hour; he was somewhat touched at how many times Jack had to travel that far to get to his place. Ahab focused his good eye on the street, ignoring any possible stare from strangers.

Jack was waiting at the stop, with a cigar hanging from his mouth while sitting on the bench. Ahab saw his boss getting up and reaching out to get the –actually unlit- cigar in his hand, as a surprised expression appeared on his face as soon as the medic got off the bus. Ahab had taken him by surprise.

“What’s with the eyepatch?”

Jack greeted him, changing the mouth left agape with a smug grin.

“I liked yours.” The two men started walking alongside one another and Jack must have thought his cheeks felt hot because of the cold.

“It fits you.” He muffled, as Ahab glanced to his side to meet Jack’s frowny face. He let out a soft chuckle.

“Thanks.” The medic held his hand onto his bag’s strap, “I’m glad you invited me.”

Jack shook his head and crossed his arms for a moment, “You just, live way too far.”

“It’s not my fault.” Ahab tried a lamenting tone for laughs, even though it just felt like he was really apologising. Joking wasn’t his forte afterall.

Jack’s house was modest in size, but had a spacious front and back yard to compensate; the place had sparse houses here and there instead of the usual neatly packed areas Ahab was used to around his flat. _The city really does change, if you go to the outskirts_ , he thought. Once inside, the neat wooden floor and white walls took the older man’s attention, it gave a safe, clean vibe.

There were so many pictures framed around.

It felt like family already.

Jack helped him with his coat, finding Ahab’s fidgeting while thanking him extremely amusing. He noticed how the man’s lips would twitch up a little, forming a smile every time he did so.

“Do you want coffee?” Jack frowned a little and made a face “Tea? My mother’s girlfriend seems to drink that instead of water,” he touched his beard with his thumb and index, sliding through it, “so we probably have more of that.”

The entrance had a corridor between two open spaces, on the left – the living room, while on the right, the kitchen. Right in front of the main door, a set of stairs lead upstairs where the bedrooms and bathroom were located. Near the stairs, there was an underground floor that was used for storage.

“I mean, we also have alcohol.”

A particular large dresser rested on the wall that gave to the living room and Ahab’s eye fell onto a particular picture of a brown haired boy, all dressed up for winter, sitting near a resting lamb. He was smiling to the camera, with a small hand on the animal’s back.

“Is that you?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking, stepping closer to take a better look at the picture. Jack didn’t immediately understand what the other man was talking about, until he saw Ahab staring intently at one of the framed pictures on the dresser. It was like a flame in him rising to his cheeks as he skipped over to the medic; the odd feeling of embarrassment he felt was new to him. He had never cared whenever strangers, friends or guests stopped to contemplate the nice collection of pictures hanging around the house. He didn’t care when Kaz commented on them, nor when Jacqueline started to rearrange their position.

But Ahab,

Ahab was another thing entirely.

“You look so cute there.” He heard him say, as Jack’s face grew warmer and warmer until he harshly took his hand. His voice was, as usual, firm when he ordered,

“Stop looking at those.”

And Ahab knew there was no real threat in that tone. Jack adding a _come on_ with the same intonation meant he was just trying to act bold and in charge. He tugged at Ahab’s hand.

“Show me around, then.”

They were still holding hands, both of them ignoring the fact as if they never really registered it at all.

“You’re gonna regret being so cheeky with me.”

“Alright, boss.”

Jack furrowed his brows, as if he wanted to put on a menacing look to throw at his friend, but at the same time, he was having fun. He liked it, what they had.

The duo walked the ground floor as Jack showed Ahab around, pointing in the living room the exact place in which, every year, they would put up the Christmas tree _. You should come around to see it_ , he added. Ahab nodded in response.

Then they moved upstairs. All the doors were usually open, besides Adam’s room. _Maybe there’s a torture room inside_ , Jack joked before saying, with a way more worried face, _I wonder if he still has that weird cowboy poster up_.

“Your mother looks a little intimidating.”

Ahab stopped looking at a picture framed on the corridor, in which Joy, then twenty-two, saluted. All around it, many different medals of honour. The medic felt out of place. The picture alone made him uncomfortable; her eyes had something he couldn’t quite describe.

“She is.”

“You took from her, I suppose.”

The other man’s gaze held onto his mother’s young face and hummed an odd reply. They had gone upstairs holding hands. Jack realised it by squishing his fingers and finding Ahab’s warm hand resting in his.

He dropped that intimate touch without making it a big fuss. He remembered holding hands with classmates in elementary school, when he had to accompany his little brother somewhere. When he was fifteen and his friend Eva said they should be boyfriend and girlfriend.

Yet, this felt different.

It had just happened.

“Boss,” Ahab shut his eye for a moment, reaching out to his forehead with the now free hand, “I think I’m getting a headache.”

Jack patted the medic’s back as he asked if he could lay down somewhere for a moment, to which his friend offered his bedroom bed, as it was the closest place.

The room felt like it had been recently cleaned. Above the bed, there were shelves with books and old toys, while the walls had various posters of when Jack was just out of school. There were two windows in the room, and close to one of those, there was a desk. On it, a white flower tried to stay alive, sitting in a glass with some water.

“Do you feel better?”

The bed was comfortably wide for one person, but just right for one person their size, so Ahab scooted a little to allow Jack to sit down on the edge of it. The medic’s single hand massaged his temple, in an attempt to soothe the pain.

“A little.” Ahab stared over himself, meeting Jack’s eye looking at him.

“Sorry.”

He moved his hand to grab his bag and he heard his boss laughing _you still have that on?_

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

Jack shoot a perplexed look at Ahab, while the man got out a device similar to a cigar, but there was nothing to light it up.

“Uh”, the man glanced at the windows, “No, but let me open the windows first. I don’t think my mother would be pleased to sniff smoke inside the house.”

Jack ensured the door close to avoid any smoke roaming through the other rooms after he had carefully opened both windows to allow some air change. Ahab was now sitting up, the pillow behind his back, resting on the front end of the bed. He placed the fake cigar in his mouth and just started with a single puff. The smell was indeed different from cigarettes or even cigars.

“What is it?” Jack curiously asked, sitting back down to Ahab handing him the device.

“Try it. I think it might do you some good.”  The younger man took the cigar in his hand and before taking a puff himself, he side eyed his friend to answer his own question.

“Weed.”

“Correct.”

He took a puff, hearing Ahab telling him to keep the smoke in for a little before releasing and yet, he couldn’t stop a cough from escaping, as he felt a slight tingle on his throat. The other man chuckled, patting Jack’s back as he recovered with a sneeze.

“Didn’t expect all of this from you.”

“Me neither,” Jack’s dry voice emerged after the sneeze, “what’s gonna happen now?”

Ahab took the electronic cigar and took another puff, releasing the smoke afterwards as he faced his boss with a genuine smile.

“You’ll relax.”

Jack let out a sceptical huff, as he removed his shoes – roughly left near the medic’s, and sat up close to his friend, with the back laying on the pillow and his arms folded.

“Here, take another drag while I go to the toilet.” Ahab said, lending the cigar back to him. His movements were slower sloppier. The headaches always did a work on him as he kept holding his temple with his hand as he walked off.

It was rather funny, Jack thought, having him walking around shoeless. It was a bizarre thought to have.

The smoke, this time, neatly flew out from his mouth. The air in the room was quickly becoming freezing cold and he kind of felt a little sleepy just by the whole tiring situation. Tension was starting to fade, leaving him with a bothering drowsiness so very familiar now.

He had been a peculiar kind of nervous all day. It wasn’t really troublesome, he never felt the need to be on guard. To defend himself. It seemed like he was actually _expecting_ something; every breath from the cigar helped him relax, as Ahab had said.

The medic came back after nine, ten minutes, and Jack scooted to touch the wall, making room for him to lay down. Ahab silently sat down again, followed by Jack’s eye. He sighed, as he took another drag before leaving the cigar on the table near the bed. His headache had calmed down a little, in the quiet atmosphere of the cold, but comfortable room. The chilly sensation attacked his only hand, as he started opening and closing the palm in a mean of regaining some warmth. Jack glanced at the hand gesture, thinking it would be fine to hold that again, as if he was allowed everything, just for that moment; that it would be good. His hand captured Ahab’s with a rough yet soft gesture, and he played it like a joke, moving the hands up and now as the other man looked attentively at the scene.

“Pretty cold, uh?”

Jack’s face allowed him a peaceful smile, as the drug kicked in and made him reconsider that maybe, frowning all that much didn’t really serve any good while being with Ahab. There wasn’t any real threat, if Ahab was there. Besides himself, that is. The ticking bomb inside of him seemed to have halted its noise, for now.

The other man’s eye was focused on Jack’s smile, believing he had never really seen such a nice expression on his friend before. How handsome.

“Jack,” Ahab said, getting a face to face with the younger man, “I like you.” He said with small uncharacteristic grin, but he couldn’t help himself. That smile was gorgeous.

A chuckle broke the moment.

“So you _do_ know my name.”

“What, you thought I didn’t know?”

Ahab laughed back as a reply and tried to use their clasped hands to bump into Jack, snorting a _moron_ in the meanwhile.

“You never call me Jack. It was a legit doubt.” Jack retorted with a blatantly fake angry expression.

“You have too many names, alright.”

Jack stared at the trees outside of his bedroom, knowing that at some point, he would have to get up to close the windows, but he snuggled a little closer, in that already cramped space for two grown men to be. Their hands still together.

“I like you, too.” He whispered, as if it was the most natural thing to say, “I like the way we talk about things.”

Birds flew just outside the window in front of the bed, their playful tweets accompanying that little moment.

“I like that you understand me.” Jack passed his free hand over his face, “Because I don’t understand myself, sometimes.”

Ahab sighed and placed his head on the shorter man’s, making him jump a little in surprise. “I _don’t_ understand you, but it’s nice to challenge myself sometimes.”

The two men had a relaxing moment in the cold, slightly inebriated by the drug, but still glad they had met each other. For once, they thought that something could be settled right after that accident; Jack couldn’t be cured, Ahab couldn’t be healed, but together they could ease the pain. And that was enough to appreciate that they weren’t alone.

\--

Something startled him awake. Noise from downstairs, his mother’s voice telling Jacqueline if she needed help with _that_ , whatever it was. The sun was down already, and darkness wrapped him whole; but something heavy was letting out a small, soft snore.

Jack’s brain processed the situation and remembered how him and Ahab had been talking for a hour about their problems, took beers upstairs and just fell asleep on that bed that was barely enough for Jack alone.

The sheets covering them made for an extremely cosy torpor in which Jack would have loved to hide as long as possible. The other man’s peaceful snore was almost claiming him back to sleep, placing a hand on Ahab’s back while his eyelid became heavy.

His mother voice calling out _Jack?_

And he realised what the situation was.

He didn’t plan for Ahab to stay, surely enough not in his room, asleep on top of him; he had previously told Joy about a friend coming over but this was too much. The drowsiness filling his body disappeared and real anxiety showed up uninvited, like always.

Jack roughly stretched to reach the nightstand’s lamp and suddenly a pale, warm light brighten up the room. The medic squeezed his eye and huffed out a complaint, probably because he was having the best nap he had in days. Jack shook the other man off and quite literally jumped off the bed, hitting the empty beer bottles on the floor.

“Fuck!”

Ahab’s head rose up from the sheets, still half asleep, wondering what the cause of all that noise was. He found the younger man’s face staring at him, as he rushed back onto the bed and pulled him up, dragging him by his wrinkled button shirt.

“Get up.” Jack’s face showed a weird panic, as he kept struggling to make Ahab stand up out of the bed.

“What?” the other man managed to say, “What is it?”

Jack let him go as soon as Ahab was standing straight in front of him, his hands in mid-air as his movements seemed to freeze. He stared helplessly at those messed up clothes, ruffled hair and red eye the medic was sporting after such a good rest. The lack of arm and the metal stuck in his head was irrelevant at the moment, at least in Jack’s scale of priorities.

It was like a fifteen years old boy sneaking in a friend without permission, and they smoked and drank but forgot to clean up. But at the same time, that friend was a rather important person he wanted his mother to meet, and right in that moment Ahab was in no decent condition for that.

Nor was he.

Jack whispered, as his eye dropped on the floor with a contrite look, “My mother is downstairs.” And Ahab didn’t really register it as a problem. He was there, in the bedroom, the mother was downstairs. _It was fine, right?_

In his head, his boss was having a meltdown and he passively witnessed Jack, with his hands on his face. Then it hit him.

Jack’s mother had been described as pretty ruthless, she seemed always serious and rigid in many of the pictures he had seen framed around the house.

_Oh._

She was quite frightening; intimidating, as he had previously stated.

_Oh._

“Do I,” Ahab paused, his eye growing a little wide as he glimpsed at his own figure shown in the closet’s mirror, “have to meet her?”

“Yes.” Jack sighed out. It seemed like he was trying very hard not to panic. “Yes, you do, Ahab.” His whisper rising up to a trembling, sardonic order.

Then he started mumbling, as if his mind found a single path to follow not to lose it. _It’s not a big deal_ , he said, _it’s fine. It’s good. This is not what you planned, this isn’t even close to what you planned but it’s fine._

Ahab put a hand on his back and Jack met a very, very worried face. He was quite scared this could be either blown out of proportions or just, plainly go wrong.

The younger man frowned and went to open the door, hearing the two women’s voices chatting in the kitchen, probably putting back the groceries. He cleared his throat, walking near the dark staircase, hiding in the shadows. He noticed he wasn’t even wearing his shoes. _What the fuck, Jack,_ his thoughts making him feel even more on the edge.

“Mom?” he called out, Ahab slightly peeking from the room.

“So you _are_ here.” Jacqueline’s irreverent voice came first, accompanying his mother’s figure as she appeared in the entrance’s corridor, slightly lit by the kitchen’s chandelier.

“Jack, why didn’t you answer me?”

His palms were sweaty, leaning on the handrail.

“I,” he hesitated “I was talking and I didn’t hear you. I’m sorry.”

“Is Adam here?” Joy asked with a curious tone, but to Jack felt like an arrow in the heart.

“No, no.” Another pause.

“I need you to meet someone. I’ll take him down there in a moment.”

He rushed his words with the awkwardness of someone that wasn’t used to this kind of embarrassment; he wasn’t used to feel like this at all. Jack quickly disappeared from the staircase, grasping Ahab’s hand as if he had to take off his other arm and rushed him into the bathroom.

“Boss…”

Ahab’s voice came in like an uncomfortable hum, while Jack washed his face in a fervent attempt to make himself look less dazed. The man tried to tuck his button shirt in his pants the best he could, but with just one hand, the attempt loosely brought any result.

The other man was focused on brushing his hair, hurriedly dropping the comb near the sink to help Ahab with his task, then moving onto putting the medic’s hair back together in a neat ponytail.

“I’m gonna buy you a prosthetic arm.”

He frowned, moving Ahab’s face from left to right until he thought he could look passable for his mother to see.

“So you can do this yourself when it happens again.”

Jack himself noticed he used _when_ instead of _if_ , but he was in no condition to care about that now.

“You don’t have to.”

“Shut up Ahab, you’d love another arm.”

The medic furrowed his only visible brow, an honestly upset look on his face.

“Of course I would.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Jack had his hands on the collar of Ahab’s shirt, stopping for a moment to soften his gaze, before sighing out his frustration and nervousness, “I’m sorry.” He apologised rather quickly, probably because of the urgency of the situation.

“But I do want to buy you something to ease up your movements.”

The other’s reply was a small nod, still a little bitter about that ungraceful comment. Jack had an irresponsible mouth.

“Calm down.” the medic finally huffed, briefly putting his hand on the other man’s hip, “I’m the one who’s gonna meet her.” Jack grumbled in response, lowering his eye.

When they got out from the bathroom, five minutes had passed and Joy had gone back to the kitchen. The TV was on; a smell of tea came up from the stairs while the two men silently snuck down the steps, as if they didn’t want to be heard. Jack reached the kitchen first, clearing up his throat to get the two women’s attention, but mostly his mother’s.

Jacqueline was the first to turn around, taking a moment to process the picture in front of her eyes. Joy followed a second later, staring at the two figures, from one to another. She seemed oddly confused. Jack swallowed.

“Mom, this is my friend.” The taller man felt Jack’s hand on his back, pushing him a little more into the room, “Ahab. He was the man who saved me during the accident.”

Joy quietly kept her eyes glued to both men, making even Jacqueline a little uncomfortable in that silence as she side-eyed her partner. Then, like a sudden change of will, Joy moved towards them as they flinched at the woman’s movements.

It felt like they were in the army again.

Ahab tried to look at her in the eyes, whispering a _hello_ under his breath, but he suddenly felt ashamed for what he was. He glanced at his lacking arm, his heart whitening, hurting as if a hand was crushing it. Doubts flooded his head.

He wished he could hide those hideous horns from his head, those scars. Somehow, look like a man again.

But he was surprised at how Joy stood in front of them and then looked down to their feet.

“Why are you two barefoot?”

Jack grunted in confusion, as he tried to make up an excuse about being more comfortable like that. This all sounded like an incredible teenage stunt he had never pulled even when he was an actual teenager.

The woman placed a hand on Ahab’s shoulder, the one going down to his lacking arm.

“You can call me Joy.” Her expression seemed focused now, looking at the man who had saved her son. All the lines of her face showed an immense gratitude for that brave soldier who had brought back her child and Ahab finally understood what Jack meant, whenever he said he couldn’t hold that look.

Joy was,

too much.

Too many silent emotions, all together.

“It’s snowing again. You can stay here for the night.” She then patted the same spot her hand was resting on, while stepping back. “I don’t like you to go out with such weather.”

“Is anyone going to point out how similar they look, or is it just me?” Jacqueline interrupted, standing up to go and shake hands with Ahab. Joy chuckled at the remark.

\--

“He is nice.”

“He seems sweet. I’m glad you became friends.”

“Mom, how much would a prosthetic arm be?”

\--

Cards flew up in the air as Kaz pushed Adam down from the bed. His boyfriend yelped, falling on his back with his long legs still up on the bed.

“Revenge!”

Kaz shouted, his hair a little ruffled, as he peeked over to the man on the ground, showing off his sweater with a weird eighties vibe and a print of palm trees on it. His usual sunglasses were down on his nose, showing a slight frown.

“You were cheating.”

“How could I ever.” Adam had a card laying on his stomach, a white t-shirt under an open, grey hoodie. His paints were tight, the same colour as the hoodie.

“You made me play this stupid game with Italian cards, who even uses those?” Kaz made a face, as the other tried to touch his face with his sockless feet, while still laying on the floor. “God, stop with your weird fetishes.”

“Don’t act all prude, my boy, as if you didn’t enjoy it earlier.”

Adam’s thin lips arched up in an infuriating smirk and Kaz batted the foot away.

“Look,” he began, “I’m not into feet.” As the older man started snickering, before trying to get back up. He patted his hurting butt.

“Damn, did you have to push me down, though?”

“Yes.” Kaz was waiting for it, for a sentence about Adam’s hurting rear to spew out a terrible joke. _I’ll make it hurt more, next time_. But he was met only by a frowning, grey eyed man. Much to his disappointment, Kaz sighed and tried pick up the cards they were playing with.

“This doesn’t count, anyway. I won this argument.”

Adam listened to his pouty boyfriend’s complaint, helping with the card gathering and then sitting back on the side of the bed.

“Look, if you don’t listen _and_ don’t pick up signals it’s not my fault.”

“ _What_ signals?” Kaz tried to keep a neutral tone, but his frustration was well felt by Adam.

“I’ve been living here for six fucking months, Kaz.” Adam took the glasses off him with his thumb and index, “If this _wasn’t_ a signal then I don’t know what is.” They kept a silent stare for a few seconds and Kaz felt it as if they were an eternity, before glaring back at the cards he was piling up in his hands.

“Then why did my mother knew already?”

“She asked me. She was worried.” He heard Adam sighing as he took another card, the King of Coins showing his flashing clothes in the picture. “Having a guy living in your house for half a year and not asking anything sounds a little farfetched, doesn’t it,” Adam stopped for a moment to gently move Kaz’s face back to hold his look, “Plus, she’s even kind enough to let me stay even if she doesn’t really understand us being together.”

Kaz’s mother was a kind Japanese woman who had moved there when Kaz was still a very young child. His husband had left her after a year, a man of the army who liked women too much, just like his son. He had left her as a single mother in a foreign country to raise a son; she worked hard to get food on the table. She would fall ill sometimes for too much stress, so Kaz had started working small jobs since he was fifteen to even out the numbers.

His mother didn’t really understand his son’s preferences, as he had explained how boys and girls were the same in his eyes, but it was puzzling to her why he wouldn’t choose the _best_ option for him – girls, instead of dating a boy. But she had never complained about it, nor she treated Adam badly. She just wanted her son to be happy.

“You keep holding secrets from me.”

Kaz grimaced his disappointment but didn’t try to break away the contact between Adam’s hand and his face.

“I do, because you react like this. Always.”  The man picked up Kaz’s glasses and wore them, adjusting the structure up on his long nose touching its bridges with his middle fingers, “You need to control your emotions a little better. You’re not a baby anymore.”

Kaz grunted and reached out a hand to snap the sunglasses back from his boyfriend, but the cat-like man moved out of the way just in time. His grumbles got a chuckle out of Adam, seeing how Kaz folded his arms saying _fine, then_.

“Why have you never noticed?”

“What?”

“Me, living here.”

Kaz rolled his eyes, shrugging the question off while still looking at his boyfriend in the eyes.

“I guess I liked you hanging around.”

And he stopped, frozen then and there as he heard himself saying that. An extremely confused, almost regretful expression dropped on his face while Adam’s mouth was growing back to that irritating, awful smirk.

“Oh Ka—“

“ _Shut up_.” Kaz got his arms up to shield himself from his boyfriend, getting closer rather quickly.

“That’s _so sweet_.” Adam hummed, his cutting grin still shining on his face, as if he was trying to tease him. He managed to put his hands on Kaz’s face and move it up, avoiding the boy’s flailing arms. Adam’s lips tried for a kiss but Kaz was holding back in this playful staging. In the end, his boyfriend managed to stamp his lips on Kaz’s.

“This is why I hate you!” He shouted, pushing Adam’s cheek away, while showing a bright flush on his face. His defence lowered when he saw the other snickering at his remark, and for how much he said _he disliked Adam_ , he couldn’t resist him either.

Kaz let Adam come closer again and, this time, he kissed the man. Softly.

“You better start paying rent.”

He whispered in Adam’s ear. A smug grin on his face meeting Adam’s bewildered frown.

\--

Ahab peeked out from his flat’s window. New Year had passed by, but the rigid air was still the same as December’s, sweeping away the man’s warm breath. Quiet waved from the street and jumped on the back of a Vespa, driven by a boy about her age; the young man also turned around to wave at the medic, a bright smile could be seen behind the visor of his helmet. Quiet put on a very similar helmet on her head, before they scooted off.

A voice came from behind the medic.

“Close that damn window.” Jack whined as he was trying not to spill all the popcorn out from the package. He gently made them fall into a bowl, while sitting down on the couch. The TV was on, paused on the first frame of a movie.

Ahab obeyed, letting out a worried grumble. When he turned around, he found Jack’s face already stuffed with popcorn and he frowned a little.

“They’re salty, don’t eat so many all together.”

Jack’s brows furrowed a little after munching down the popcorns, as if he was offended by that reprimand. “Did you side with my mother?”

Ahab shook his head a little, obliging to that sassy comment since Jack wouldn’t listen anyway, and he slowly moved to sit close to him and get some popcorns himself.

“Anyway,” Jack placed the bowl between his legs and reach out to read what was written on the cover of the DVD they had rented, “why are you so worried for that girl?”

“She’s going out quite often, lately.”

“And?” Jack kept staring at the cover, making a small noise of approval about the plot of the movie, _The Thing_ , “How old is she again?” he added.

“Almost twenty.”

Ahab sighed and looked up from the popcorn he was holding in his hand to find a confused Jack.

“Then stop acting so worried.” He teasingly slapped the DVD box on the other man’s shoulder. “Let her live her life, goddammit.”

Ahab squeezed his eye for a moment to play out a hurt face, before trying to fold his arms the best he could, seeing how he missed a big chunk of one. He sighed with his head facing the carpet, pondering on whether to leave her alone or not. He wasn’t bothering Quiet, of course, but he was apprehensive. Her friend was trustworthy, and sometimes he would drop by to have lunch with her, but Ahab couldn’t help his worry.

He met Jack’s eye again, trying to change the subject.

“Are you gonna get spooked by the movie?”

“No. Why would I?”

\--

Quiet glanced over at the rugby field across the street. The girl team from a close by university was training, like always, on Tuesday afternoons; even with this cold. She was sitting near the window inside a café, just to have a better view, while in front of her the young man she had set off with was sipping a warm tea.

Her eyes switched to him.

“Are you going to leave the helmet on?”

She spoke, and it wasn’t English.

“People are staring at you.”

The young man smiled sweetly at her.

“You never know, work might call me any moment.”

Pequod was a deliveryman. He worked for an odd company who needed him at the most unexpected moments, so he always carried around a pager. His name was rather appropriate.

Quiet was a childhood friend of his and the only person of her past she still held any contacts with; and to whom she actually spoke. Selective mutism, for the girl, had started to become the only way she could protect herself, and even if she loved Ahab as the good man he was, she couldn’t bring herself to break the silence with him.

They were both from a Native American descent, growing up in the same neighbourhood. Pequod made her feel comfortable. He was caring, granted he did act way too much after other people’s words. With the teacup in a hand, he stared down at his watch on the other wrist.

“Oh,” he gasped, looking out to the rugby field, “they’re almost done. Do you wanna go check?”

Quiet had ordered a coffee. It was almost five in the afternoon and she seemed taken aback at the question. She clenched her fists, feeling the fake leather of her half-finger gloves. Her cheeks a little rosy but her expression was still trying to look composed.

She usually answered no to that question, as it had been coming up every Tuesday for the past four weeks.

But today had been different. Ahab’s _boss_ , or his _friend_ as they liked to say, had lunch in their flat and they ate together, the three of them. Quiet had never seen Ahab so lively, at least not since he had come back. He tried his best to cook and guide his friend into the task, but apparently, the man wasn’t cut for food making but only food eating. She heard Ahab laugh, quietly and modestly, but it was an improvement. Another interesting aspect was that his boss never rose his voice. He hadn’t in a while, at least not when Quiet was around.

It seemed like Ahab was starting to accept the changes in his life and start anew. Or maybe he wasn’t. Laying low with his passive wait for death; but it was somewhere to begin, at least.

If he could do it

So could Quiet.

“Fine.”

She replied, much to Pequod’s surprise. His face lit up and his smile grew bigger. Ten minutes later he was clinging on the fence, looking at the girls in the field, giggling, covered in mud, panting. Quiet’s eyes quickly found what she was looking for, as she stood still behind the framed fence, her mouth covered by the big scarf she was wrapped in.

The bulky, tall girl had her brown hair tightly arranged in a high ponytail; some shorter locks were stuck on her sweaty forehead as she was cleaning her face with her training shirt. She shouted for a teammate’s name and laughed at the reply she received. Then she coughed, heavy breathes coming out from her mouth.

Everyone called her Flaming Buffalo, a name she gained after fighting like a real life buffalo on the field. Her real name was Elizabeth, and the case wanted that her rugby persona translated onto her everyday life, making her known as Buffy to family and friends.

Quiet didn’t knew the girl, but Pequod had talked with her, _she was great_ , he said.

 _You might like her_ , he said.

He had met at Buffy’s university, as he was delivering a package for the team’s supplies, and she happened to be there to get it in the storeroom.

Quiet liked her, indeed. Buffy’s cheeks were full and healthy, her eyes big. The girl kept staring at the player so hard it seemed she was locking onto her. What she didn’t expect was for Buffy to turn around and stand still, fixed in that position, sharing the same stare.

 _Oh man_ , he heard Pequod whisper, before looking at Quiet. Her whole persona seemed in control, since she didn’t flinch or bat an eye, but inside a storm of embarrassment was hitting her hard, she didn’t know what to do; her only gesture was to rise her hand

And make a thumb up.

Pequod frowned in confusion, _what are you doing?_ He added with the same soft voice.

The girl didn’t smile, her thumb symbolising whatever she wanted express, up, close to the fence. Buffy grinned, rather puzzled, before responding with a thumb up herself. Quiet blushed, even though the cold allowed her to hide that further humiliation.

“You’re a fan?”

Flaming Buffalo shouted. Pequod crouched down, as if he was trying to cut himself off the scene. Quiet moved her hand back down. She nodded, lightly.

“See you next week then!”

Buffy shouted, one of her hands cupped around her mouth to help her voice come across.

Quiet nodded again and smiled. The other girl couldn’t see it, but that was enough.

\--

The kitchen was brightly lit, Jack rested against the hot radiator while something was boiling in a pot on the stoves. He absentmindedly looked through his phone.

“Can I turn off at least the lights in the living room?” Ahab popped from the door, his hand up in the air, spread open, to show a little exasperation.

“I left it on? I didn’t notice.” Jack tried to act nonchalant, just throwing a brief glance at the other man.

“Are you staying for dinner?” The medic dropped his hand back near his hip, and he heard a _yeah_ coming from his friend, to whom he frowned with a small, teasing smile creeping on his face, “You’re scared, aren’t you.”

“What?” Jack immediately looked up, “Scared of what?” he grumbled and then added, “I’m not, by the way.”

“You can sleep here if you want to.” Ahab shrugged and went back into the corridor, his voice stating, _It’s fine, I’m just going to change the sheets_. Jack felt his pride completely smashed to bits, stomping behind the taller man and stopping right before the other section of the corridor, the one with the bathroom and two other rooms. Ahab stood in the darkness.

“There’s no need for that. I’m going home for the night.”

“Was the movie _that_ disturbing?” the medic liked teasing Jack; it was awfully fun to do it whenever it was about small, innocuous things.

“No.”

“Then, come here and help me with the bed.”

Seeing that war veteran being helplessly wary of the darkness of a corridor just because of a horror movie was something Ahab found adorable, as many other things. Jack seemed like a dog, unsure whether to pursue towards a threat or not.

Jack huffed angrily as he stepped into the semi-darkness of the corridor until they both got into Ahab’s bedroom and the younger man promptly turned the lights on.

“I guess you’re staying then.” Ahab’s almost emotionless face was back, even though his only hand went to pat Jack’s cheek, as if he was rewarding his boss for such bravery.

“Watch your steps, medic.” Jack’s voice had the usual little threating tone, but the other man kept caressing his cheek with such a loving touch he thought he had to try something else to make Ahab take him seriously. Hence, he moved closer and grabbed the other man’s waist with both his arms, locking it into a powerful close quarters manoeuvre and lifted him up. Jack’s legs spread open to support the heavy weight that was his friend.

On the field, it could have been the beginning of a destructive move, slamming the enemy’s body on the ground, choking him. Slitting his throat.

But here, it was just holding Ahab’s up, one or two centimetres from the floor. Ahab’s only hand rested on Jack’s shoulder, grabbing onto it; he was almost going to retaliate to that with an actual form of CQC, as the movement was way too sudden. It had frightened him.

However, he quickly realised there was no real harm. There was no enemy, no field, no weapons. It was just Jack. And Jack was rowdy.

“You’re keeping your guard way too low, you’re an easy target.” Jack huffed out, a spiteful smirk showing on his face, probably happy he had reaffirmed himself. He liked to act like a dominant figure, probably because he felt the passiveness of Ahab’s character as unnerving, sometimes; so he thought he had to step up for both of them.

And yet,

Ahab’s hand went to touch his hair, his hand rough but kind. It was good. To let go, of this, this whole leading behaviour, for once. One day, to be held and be lead.

Ahab stayed silent, like most of the time, and lowered himself to place a kiss on top of Jack’s head. The medic made this so difficult, not to slip, not to let himself go to these feelings.

Jack placed him back down but didn’t let go of his manoeuvre, now turned into a hug. He kept his smirk on, as if nothing was passing through his mind.

_It’s just a joke._

“As soon as you get the prosthetics, you’re gonna get some training time with me.”

Ahab nodded.


	4. Even the stars look brighter tonight, nothing’s impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A song I find appropriate for BB and V: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oPU8XJcA__k
> 
> Sorry for the late update! I hope you'll like this chapter too. I didn't mean to finish it like I did, but I needed a new slate to figure out what I'm going to do with this ff. Compared to the others, I actually don't have in mind a complete story, so I'm trying to understand where this is taking me.  
> Have fun.

Her hand softly brushed the empty space on the other side of the bed. Lukewarm at best, she must have been away for a while. Jacqueline blinked in the darkness and retreated her hand, clutching it into a weak fist. How she wished she could analyse Joy, understand her thoughts, her feelings; but for how much she tried, it was all futile. Joy was an imperturbable wall. She had come to doubt her crying at the funeral of her late partner.

Joy tried her best to show how she could be detached from the world around her, probably a side effect of her job, but the truth Jacqueline had realised was that she had _too_ many feelings. It could hurt her on the field. It could hurt her work relationships.

And that woman wasn’t impulsive.

Joy always tried to protect the ones she loved by putting herself on the line. She had so much love, so much. It didn’t mean she was good at expressing it, even when left the chance to. It was, somehow, a shameful waste.

Jacqueline never felt she had the means to grasp Joy’s whole being, to be a comfort to her, to be what she needed on her side. The man who had occupied that side of the bed before her had left a shaken body full of sorrow, resting near her. Dr. Strangelove wasn’t jealous of him, just rather disappointed at how life turned out.

It was awful that she felt relieved at that man dying, because that meant Joy could be with her.

It was awful. Truly. A mouthful of iron she had been tasting for the past few years.

She turned on her back and stared at the ceiling.

That man was a mystery, Joy never even told her his name. It was locked up, somewhere, in a remote part of the ex-soldier’s memory. He didn’t seem like a bad man for instance, at least from the pictures; he had a kind but eerie smile. From what Adam had told the doctor, his father had an interest in the paranormal and liked knitting. He was the harbour to which everyone would cry their emotions out, as he was a psychologist.

Adam also told Jacqueline his father’s name. He was Czech in origin, to which his name.

Žal.

He explained her how the word itself wasn’t a proper name; it seemed as if Žal’s parents decided on a terrible, unfunny joke.

He was named after Sorrow itself. Jacqueline thought it was funny, with a bitter smile on her face, imagining Joy and Sorrow, hand in hand. What a sight.

What a match.

She wasn’t Joy’s match, afterall.

Jacqueline got out from the bed and slowly walked out of the bedroom, hesitantly stopping at the top of the stairs. A soft-spoken voice came from the living room. Her eyes were inquisitively looking for Joy, to whom she was talking to, but everything stood still in the heavy air of the night. So, she moved a few steps down the stairs, the older woman’s lament coming from the other room was hurtful. It sounded like a prayer, a mourning.

Jacqueline sat down and listened.

\--

“If you were here” Joy stared at a small picture taken out from her wallet “I’m sure you’d be able to help Jack.”

Her blond hair fell on the side, untamed by any knot, slightly curly at the end. She her pose was quite out of character, as if she was shaken awake and needed someone to hold on to, both of her  thumbs pressed on the picture of a man and a blond baby in his arms.

“You know, she tries so much.” Joy paused and looked down, “She tries so much.” She repeated.

“And we’re all a mess, she said, we really are.” Her eyes moved back to the photo, “She even challenges Jack, all the time. She’s a good girl.”

Joy’s voice didn’t break, even though she felt tears filling up her eyes. It was fine, to ease the act. To finally let the feelings flow out of that strict control. She cleaned them away with a thumb.

“It’s fine, as long as she stays. It’ll be fine, right?”

Her face was covered with the free hand, as she whispered.

“Right? Am I doing good?”

She tried to make herself small; how could anyone see her like this. It would break everyone. Everyone. She was the stronghold. The marble statue. The unbreakable.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Jacqueline was crying on the stairs, listening to that private moment as if she had just committed a crime.

“I love them so much. I miss you.”

The stairs were empty.

\--

Joy moved into the bed again. The dark hours were leaving, and the room seemed less lonely. A little more comforting. Jacqueline was awake, moving closer to the older woman – and she touched her shoulder just so briefly and Joy’s bright eyes were on her.

“Did I wake you?”

She whispered, turning on her side.

“It’s fine.” Jacqueline lied, placing a hand on the other woman’s cheek, brushing it softly with a thumb. “Did you have troubles sleeping?”

Joy’s eyes were thinner, as if she was trying to close them. She didn’t reply but moved an arm to scoot Jacqueline over. The doctor was so easy to budge, to lift up. So small. She made their foreheads touch as both her arms assured the woman in a strong, reassuring hold. Their lips touched, as Jacqueline couldn’t bring herself not to brush over that inviting closeness.

And the doctor saw Joy’s mouth move, as if everything had gone silent. Spelling out those three words that always made her flush like a schoolgirl.

“I love you.”

It was hard to live with Joy.

It was hard to love Joy.

But in all honesty, Dr. Strangelove had never been a person who liked the easy way.

\--

“So you like him?”

Jack stared inside his coffee cup, now empty, as a slight frown appeared on his face. He mumbled something.

“Is that a _yes_ or a _no_?”

The blond, voluptuous woman sitting in front of him drummed her red painted fingernails on the table, expectantly. Jack just dragged a hand on the table in a sweeping motion, his tone with a little shame, a little embarrassment in it.

“Can we change the subject?”

“No.”

“As if Adam wasn’t enough already.” His eyes rolled up to the ceiling, while the woman let out a harsh sigh.

“Adam is Adam. I am me. You’re still able to talk about the same topic with more than two people, right?”

“Fine.”

“You know I love you, I just want to know if you’re doing well.”

“Eva, I said _fine_.” He passed a hand through his hair. It had been a while since the last time they had met. She was extremely exhuberant, he clearly was not; so going out together was always rather exhausting to Jack.

“Yeah,” He kept his eye glued to the table, while he admitted that to himself, “I like him.” He glanced at his own phone sitting on the table.

Adam had told her everything about his _friend_.

You couldn’t really trust him on these things. _I did it for you_ , he had told his brother, _you know it’s because I care for you_. He did, for sure. But sometimes Jack wished he wouldn’t care _that_ much.

Eva’s face brightened up, following the man’s eye to where the phone was. She snatched it as soon as Jack went back to stare at her.

“Eva!” he almost shouted, jolting on his seat.

“I just want to take a look at him.”

Of course she knew how to unlock Jack’s phone.

Of course.

Both Adam and Eva were subtle spies, always knowing about his life, his whereabouts. When he was younger, he didn’t mind too much this exchange of information, his brother was still a teen and Eva just wanted to gossip about something. Jack’s life had never been that interesting.

But as she started to go through his phone, with a smile that clearly hinted at a light-hearted joke, cold sweat began dripping down Jack’s back. He frowned, as if he was guilty of something, that Eva might find something, anything in that phone that would make her stand up and leave.

His fists rested on the table, as he clenched them, his eye just so slightly giving his panic away.

Eva stopped, as if she had frozen in time. Her smile withering a little – just for a moment, holding the phone while her hand’s index was stuck in mid-air after clicking on something.

She went back to her amused smile while turning the screen to Jack.

“He’s cute.” She commented, as the phone showed a picture of the two men together. Jack holding out the phone but with his head turned to Ahab, who was facing the camera with a confused look. It was blurry; a silly picture taken some time ago, maybe the week prior. It was an accident. He should have deleted it.

But he had kept it.

Jack didn’t have any pictures of Ahab, they never took pictures of each other.

He barely had any pictures at all. Most of the times, there was nothing he deemed worthy of a photo. And yet, that one single, blurry shot quickly overcome his usual dark thoughts. It reminded him of a day in which he had a laugh, it reminded him that Ahab had a laugh.

That picture stood in his phone’s gallery like a realisation. A lonely, soft light in his deep, grim mind.

“It makes you think though,” Eva slipped the device back to its owner, who grumpily stared back at the woman, “he looks just like you. Isn’t that odd? Fascinating?”

Jack’s stress was starting to deflate, as the usual tiredness caught on him. He shrugged, his eye looking at the picture, now in his hands.

 _Maybe_ , he pushed out a wild thought, _maybe we can take more pictures together._

_Maybe there’s something worth remembering._

\--

The sound of people’s voice would never cease to pierce their ears. The lights, too strong. The noise, too unnerving.

The mall’s bright halls were like a danger zone they had to walk through, sweaty palms and intrusive thoughts running wild in their heads. Unsafe.

However, they managed to keep each other in check as they began to understand what might trigger an episode, or the many ways to distract each other’s busy minds.

And when the late Thursday afternoon came, with the shops almost empty, Adam would decide it could be a good way to have a _double date_ , as he called it. _It’s a joke_ , he added with a mischievous smile right after. Since Jack needed some new clothes he didn’t resist the offer, while Ahab was the closest thing to being thrilled he could manage, which was a “less drained than the usual”.

“Which one do you like?”

Jack had a basket on the ground with two plain mono-colour shirts threw in. Ahab had added a nice, warm hat because he liked the diamond shapes on it. Their two younger chaperons were a little further away from them, having fun trying different types of glasses, as Kaz had deemed right _to change his style_ , granted he had announced it while wearing bright pink sunglasses with orange mirror lenses. Adam was shaking his head to each and every pair.

“I think the yellow one suits you.”

Two elegant dresses fell down over Jack’s body as he showed them to his friend, holding a hanger in each hand. He showed a smirk, clearly playing the whole thing as a funny gag of sort. Ahab had replied with a small smile, amused by that act of sudden jest.

“Really? I never thought it could be my colour.” The younger man stared down at the yellow piece. He kept the show going, standing in front of a mirror and placing it on himself.

“I think it looks nice on you.” Ahab retorted to that comment and he heard Jack snicker, _more like_ _‘looks ridiculous’, be serious_.

“Maybe Eva will like it,” he dropped the yellow dress in the basket after checking the price, “she’s more of a yellow fan.”

Both of them kept waltzing in the women’s clothes aisle, liking the harmless act of playing pretend. Ahab didn’t catch anything wrong about having a little fun in seeing some of the ugly designs or say a pattern was cute.

Jack seemed calm, almost amused as he looked at the same ugly designs and cute patterns, placing way-too tight and feminine shirts on the medic while mentioning how a certain type would fit him better. They laughed.

It was a joke.

It was all a big, sad joke.

 

It was a joke.

\--

The warm colours of the setting sun accompanied the four men on a walk outside the mall, seeing how both Jack and Ahab seemed to need some fresh air. Oddly enough, Adam had started talking about guns with his brother and Jack couldn’t let that occasion slip by; the questions and doubts were genuine afterall, as Adam had started to get interested in revolvers, out of all things. The way the young man looked at his brother was a confusing mixture of emotions Kaz never quite understood, or seen on him for the matter.

There was respect, love.

The two brothers were talking quite fervently about their pistols, skipping in front of Ahab and the youngest of the group, who didn’t really know how to handle the silent, armless medic. Ahab didn’t frighten Kaz as much as Jack did, that was a good start. It was a kinder, quieter, less threatening version of Adam’s brother, while keeping the good looks and serious temperament.

Ahab was also much older than Kaz. That made him a little uncomfortable on how to jumpstart a conversation and on what topic, since Kaz himself was a rather talkative boy. Thirteen years were a huge gap, another generation entirely. He had tried his best at pushing out a light-hearted chat, dropping music in as his first thought.

 _You know, I play an acoustic guitar_ , he made recreated the gesture of playing a guitar in mid-air, throwing a quite embarrassed and awkward look at the man. Ahab nodded in approval. His expression unchanged.

 _I’m sure you’ve got talent for it_ , he added to the conversation as Kaz felt more embarrassed, but less confused on whether the man thought he was just a random kid he had to hang out with. Ahab and Jack both looked like grumpy bears to him, whereas Jack had the fierce brutality of a mother bear ready to strike at the first sign of danger, Ahab seemed more akin to a solitary male bear, only attacking when directly confronted.

“Maybe you can show me how you play.”

Ahab’s eye was on the boy’s flushing face, not quite realising his nervous inner turmoil.

“I live with a girl.” He continued, “I’m sure she would like to hear your music, too.”

“Is she cute?” Kaz added with a smirk letting his tongue free without thinking. Then he realised that maybe his flirting skills weren’t really needed at the moment, especially on someone whom he barely knew and was actually trying to impress. “I mean—“

He tried to cover it up and heard a soft chuckle coming from the man.

“She is.”

Kaz had many juvenile crushes for the people Adam knew, maybe too many. It seemed like his boyfriend only hang out with strong willed men and women, fast to earn Kaz’s respect and admiration; it was tough for the boy to always be the youngest and less experienced.

“Really?” Adam was now walking with his head turned on the side, a grin on his face. He had been listening to the whole conversation, even though he had been busy chitchatting about guns. “Maybe it’s your type.”

Kaz just frowned back at him and quickly caught up with Adam, just to push his back with a hand.

“Play for them! I’m sure it’ll be interesting.”

“Why don’t you _ever_ shut up?”

Jack blinked at the sudden push and let out an amused huff, turning to grab Kaz’s shoulder. The boy froze and stared back at him, taken aback by that gesture.

“Play for us one day, Kaz.”

The boy felt the strength of Jack’s hand on his shoulder and he remembered the same gesture he had done to his brother, a while ago. Except this time, his face didn’t show any trace of animosity or discomfort. Jack had attempted a grin, playing it out as a friendly gesture, while Kaz slowly nodded, breathing _sure_ as a response.

Jack retreated his hand rather quickly, as if he had just realised he must have been hurting the boy’s shoulder in his way too eager attempt at being social. Adam saved the impending silence that was going to drop after that out of character scene by taking Kaz’s hand. He was still smiling to his boyfriend, telling him to rehearse that one song or try writing one himself as he walked him a little further ahead. Kaz seemed quick to regain his speech, while Jack stared at their backs.

He flinched when he felt a hand on the back of his neck, but only found Ahab with a resigned expression on his face.

“Well at least you’re trying.”

“Are you being sarcastic?” Jack scowled at him while the other man closed his only eye for a moment while shaking his head, imitating a deeply concerned face.

“No.”

“It’s not like your social skills are any better.”

“Of course.”

Jack averted his eye and clenched his fists, just as he always did when embarrassed. He shook the hand off and angrily put his hands in his trousers’ pockets, stomping a couple of steps away, before turning around.

“Come on. Move.”

“Jack, stop ordering me around.” Ahab sighed with an almost playful smile on his face, just to show how tame that voice and that face were to him, now. And when he used his boss’ name, Jack seemed to retreat and calm his high spirit down; Ahab moved nonetheless towards him. The other two were far ahead, probably heading back to the car.

They both moved close together in silence for a couple of minutes until Jack’s eye stopped staring at the ground and turned to his friend.

“Can I sleep at your place tonight?”

“Sure.”

\--

Ahab’s half hug wrapped Jack’s side, as he hid his face under the older man’s head, trying to fall asleep. The warmth radiating from him had a calming effect on Jack, who snuggled closer, breathing on Ahab’s neck.

The darkness of the late night cradled them both to rest. Ahab would always have troubles drifting off first anyway, so he just stood still with the other man curled up next to him. His hand moved in small circles to caress his boss’ back, knowing he liked these small touches. Jack grunted, picking up Ahab’s attention when he moved up on his elbows, staring directly at the medic with his sleepy eye. His lines were barely visible, as a small, dark orange glow coming from the night light near Ahab’s door shone on Jack’s features.

“What is it?”

Jack crouched down again, his arms underneath his chest in a precarious position. He seemed so harmless, vulnerable. A position and behaviour only Ahab was allowed to see.

“I feel weird.”

Ahab’s hand roamed through the dark to touch the man’s head and caress his hair.

“Weird how?” he then asked.

“Scared.”

\--

Everything is vivid, just like the song, that song, always the same. Drums, the volume is too loud and Ahab felt the metal in his head with the hand he didn’t have. The ground projected a scary, looming shadow. The dark colour reflected a horn, growing like the one of a monster.

_I searched for form and land, for years and years I roamed_

His breath grew heavy as he put both his hands on the metal. His feet started to sink in the earth. Ahab’s eyes dropped down to the hands holding his feet and the image of another monster, a corpse, his boss.

_You're face to face_

_With the Man who Sold the World_

His decaying hand reached out and Jack’s deformed face grimaced before shouting

_Help me,_

_I’m dying._

\--

Ahab woke up sweating to Jack’s actual voice shouting for his life. _I’m dying. I’m dying._

He had fallen from the bed. Ahab jumped to sit up and reach out to the nightstand lamp, in a rush of panic.

“Jack?” His voice panicked, trying to find a reassuring answer from the other man. The light found Jack curled up on himself, touching his chest. Shaking.

 _It’s coming out, they’re all coming out,_ he kept rambling as his hands spasmodically picked up the air and tried to push it on his chest, as if he was trying to put something back inside. Ahab rushed down near him, falling on his knees.

“Jack,” he hurriedly tried to calm himself before attempting to soothe his friend, “Jack, look at me! Nothing’s happening!”

Jack was clearly hallucinating, whatever he was seeing wasn’t in that room with Ahab. It seemed like he was seeing his organs, spread all over the floor; _keep them in. Keep them in._ One of his hands was pressing its fingernails in the flesh of his face and the medic had to intervene, stopping it with his only arm.

“I’m open!” Jack screamed in terror, “The scar is open!” his eyes were both as wide as humanly possible. His right one was lost in the dark of its broken pupil, it was like staring into an abyss.

For a moment, Ahab believed Jack’s torso was cut open yet again.

For a moment, his mind was rushing through the options his medical skills provided him for confronting blood loss or impromptu sutures.

_How was he even going to help without an arm?_

However, he quickly figured out the snake on Jack’s chest wasn’t going to reopen, not now, nor ever again. The suture was still intact; the cut itself was sane and well done. There was nothing wrong.

“It’s not!” The man replied with a firm tone, “Jack, look at me, you’re fine!”

Quiet busted into the room, opening the door in a rush and turning the lights on, finding Ahab’s face turned towards her.

“Quiet!” The frown on his face startled the girl, as she heard the other man in the room moaning in pain _, I’m on fire, I’m burning,_ while holding his chest, “Pick up my supplies in the wardrobe!”

Quiet bolted to catch whatever Ahab needed and as she sought through the bag for a specific brand of tranquilizer, the medic had finally started to break in into Jack’s delusion. He didn’t have any other mean to stop the other man’s fierce strength besides pressing one of Jack’s arms on the ground and try to halt his motions with his own body. His friend’s free arm flailed desperately, touching the floor in a frenzy.

Ahab started whispering to him, taking in Jack’s pulls on his shirt, his strength showing its true colours. _Hush, hush Jack. It’s alright. You’re safe._

Making such a man swallow a pill was one of the hardest tasks Quiet had ever tried in her life; she even assured he wasn’t going to suffocate with it or the water they used to make it flow down.

Jack had a coughing fit, but the calming drug was in and Ahab took a deep, relieved sigh as he rested above his friend, pinning him down, still afraid he might harm himself. His stomach was hurting so bad. The situation didn’t help him recover from the fearsome nightmare he had woken up from and his head was slowly filling up with disturbing noises he didn’t want to deal with.

The room slowly became silent again, as if they had defused a bomb. The bright light of the ceiling lamp hurt Ahab’s sane eye as if someone had forced him to stare directly at the sun.

Jack’s face had gone blank. The look of pure nothing staring at the ceiling, his forearms resting lifted; his mouth agape while his breath ran out as if he was running.

It looked like he had just stopped, dropping his actions altogether and gone numb.

Quiet was sitting on her knees, watching the two worn out men. Ahab’s head rested on top of Jack’s gasping chest, fatigue catching up on him as he had barely any strength to keep his eyes open, but he eventually lifted himself up to take a glimpse of his friend’s face.

Jack’s face had halted while he was figuring out the reality around him, his scared eye wandering from left to right.

Ahab knew that feeling well. Too well. He winced as soon as he lifted himself to look at Jack, quickly taking his hand over his own mouth and tried to stand up as fast as possible. He ran out the room to reach the bathroom, bumping onto the door and wall.

He threw up.

Back in the room, Quiet was left with a seemingly lifeless doll lying on the floor. Her face wore a small frown while staring at Jack; she couldn’t really blame this on him, but she didn’t ask two people to take care of, truth to be told. She let out a small sigh, moving closer to Jack to check on him and he looked back at her.

Quiet had never been so close to him before, she had never looked into that deep blue eye. That gaze felt like the one a child would toss to a parent for comfort, except it had a shame to it.

The irregular rhythm in which his eyebrows moved was bizarre. It seemed like he was searching for the right emotion to express, and failing at all of them.

She placed the bed’s pillow under his head before leaving to help Ahab out in the bathroom. Jack followed the girl’s feet moving out from the room still figuring out his emotions.

As the girl stepped into the corridor, she heard the toilet’s flush. She found Ahab drinking a gulp of water before spitting it out in the sink, bent over.

“I’m ok.”

He tried to reassure her, staring at her reflection in the mirror, almost embarrassed by the face he had, completely drained out of colour and life. Ahab’s muscles felt like burns on his skin, stretching, hurting. He was exhausted.

His sluggish movements brought him back to his bedroom, after caressing Quiet’s head.

_Go to bed. We’re fine now._

_I’m sorry._

She didn’t leave, but stayed at the door, as Ahab clearly didn’t want help anymore; he patted Jack’s cheek, telling him to hold onto his shirt. The medic pressed his only hand behind his boss’ back as he awkwardly flopped onto his chest. Quiet witnessed Jack weakly folding his arms around Ahab and whisper something she didn’t catch; _you’re not dying_ , she heard Ahab reply in a soft voice.

 

At six in the morning, Jack woke up again. This time, he was a lucid mess. The medic near him laid seemingly lifeless, unmovable. His face clearly marked by tiredness.

Jack didn’t remember exactly what had happened, yet that didn’t stop him from feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt. He moved on the couch and stayed awake, the TV on, the volume down. He wanted to leave Ahab alone.

Later, he lied to his mother.

 _I’m fine_ , he wrote her at ten, _I’ll come home tomorrow._

She didn’t question him, there was no reason to afterall.

Ahab slept until late in the afternoon.


End file.
